Oddball Trouble
by crockywock
Summary: In 1972, Severus Snape returns to Hogwarts, swearing that this time he will not get into trouble with any of the four Marauders who do not yet call themselves that just yet. We also learn a little more about Remus's past. FINISHED
1. Prologue

**

ODDBALL TROUBLE

**  
**_A series of events during Severus Snape's second year at Hogwarts._  
  
  
Prologue**

In the hallway there was the big grandfather's clock with its skilfully carved edges and the huge black pendulum swinging back, forth, back and forth... a hundred times each day, or more. The figures on it were carved in as well, and then painted. In green. They did not show the time, but something Severus did not grasp. Something to do with travelling... and transport.

There were no hands either. Nothing to point at the various long numbers or strings of letters such as _'Repetere', 'Regindo',_ or _'Deserere'_ that made no sense to him the longer he thought about it. And he did so - several times a day.

It took a couple of minutes before he took in his father's voice coming from the back of the hallway and the shuffling of his and his mother's bags near the entrance, which meant that the two of them had finally returned.

'Severus!'

He whirled around and hurried towards them, but his father held out his hand and motioned him to take the bags. Severus did without complaint.

The soldier whispered something into his wife's ear, who was looking at Severus through big, glassy-blue eyes, not seeming to take them in, whatever her husband was trying to convey to her. Then, without another look at his son, he took her hand and escorted her to a small door behind the staircase, which led to their shared bedroom. Severus stopped at the doorstep, slightly unsure what to do, and eventually leaned the bag against the wall next to the door, carefully withdrawing from the doorstep, not taking his eyes of his mother.

Father had summoned a glass of water and was now watching his wife with something in his eyes that Severus had never perceived before. Their usual light and very determined blue seemed covered by a veil of despair, and something in his face was twitching, though Severus had difficulties seeing what it was.

For a moment, just for a second, he felt sorry for this man, who was staring down at the feeble woman before him as if thinking about what had happened - and what should happen now - and then turned.

Severus made another involuntary step backwards, letting him step out of the room and carefully close the door behind him. His face was a mask. He knew it. He was fighting back tears again, as, indeed, he had done all day, ever since mother had collapsed and father had taken her to St. Mungo's earlier this day.

The soldier's eyes narrowed. He was scrutinizing Severus's expression without any apparent emotion on his face. Then looked down at the bags in front of the mirror and back up into his son's face again.

'Going back to Hogwarts, are you?'

'Yes,' said Severus tensely. 'Tomorrow.'

'Good for you, isn't it?' said his father resentfully. 'To cause this and then be able to just... head off. Leave me to deal with her. Easy. Very convenient.'

'But I wasn't -'

One look at his father's expression made him shut his mouth at once.

'Why do you think she got worse so quickly?' hissed the big man, suddenly quavering with suppressed emotion. 'What _could_ be the reason for her being perfectly all right only a month ago - until you came back? Why do you think she's seeing things again? Why??'

Severus shrank back, now seriously fighting against an upcoming bunch of tears.

'B-b-b-but...'

His father glared. Then turned.

'She won't be taking these potions any longer,' he muttered, more to himself than anything. 'It's what makes them ill. Potions. And those _foolish_ healers who think they know everything!'

He slammed a fist against the wall suddenly, his eyes apparently closed, and ignored Severus for a full five minutes before turning again, his face a mask of composure and superiority again. Just as Severus knew it.

'You'll try and make more of an effort this time, won't you? You'll try and not disappoint her again.'

It was not a question. Severus nodded. His father frowned and raised an eyebrow.

'Yes father,' said Severus quickly. 'I promise.'

'Good,' said the soldier, placing one hand briefly at Severus's shoulder before making his way through the hallway towards the office. 'I see you tomorrow then. You'll be tired, I presume.'

'Yes father,' lied Severus, thinking that he could easily read until he was.

'And remember,' said his father's voice from behind his back as he was ascending the staircase, 'if I catch you reading again you'll be in trouble.'

Severus turned quickly, making to protest, catching himself just in time, however, and threw a helpless look at the door of the office behind which his father had vanished.

He shut his mouth again and made the rest of the stairs, quietly closing the door of his bedroom behind him, slamming himself onto his bed as he was, staring at the ceiling.

Mother had been bad for the last couple of weeks, that was true. Admittedly it was hard to tell exactly _what_ she was suffering from, but she _was_ suffering, he did not doubt that. And it was his fault. Apparently.

Things were appearing in Severus's head. Pictures. When he was thinking of his mother, one particular image kept returning to his mind - it was the memory of a boat and two people on it. A man - and a woman. It was the woman who was steering the boat, yet the man was more important. A prince. A warrior. Someone who, people said, would return one day. To give them the help they so longed for. To guide them and be their guardian. His name was... Charlie. Bonnie... Charlie.

Severus turned and glared at the white wall. No singing. No humming... and do not cry!

The word repeated themselves in his head, driven by an automatic force he could not grasp. He tried to think of something pleasant again quickly. Tried to think of Hogwarts to drive out other images that were coming up rapidly, forcefully. He was blinking once, twice - and then they were gone. The room was not spinning anymore and the darkness of the memories had vanished.

Severus looked around, spotting that he was not alone anymore either. There, in front of him, sitting on his bed grinningly, flexing his hands and all fingers sat Skein. Severus's friend - the _only_ friend he would truly call such - whom he had met at Hogwarts last year. Skein, who seemed to know the answers to anything.

'Why's she so bad again?' said Severus quietly.

Skein seemed in doubt.

'You think it is your fault?'

'What I think isn't relevant,' replied Severus, not knowing where this statement came from. 'It... yes, I... suppose it is.'

'Well, then that's that,' said Skein airily, letting himself fall back on Severus's bed. 'You've made your decision.'

'It's not a matter of decision,' said Severus angrily.

'No,' said Skein, sitting up again. 'It is a matter of effort. You want her to be proud, don't you?'

'I want her to be well again,' whispered Severus.

'Then stop disappointing her like that,' said Skein harshly. 'Stop being such a child!'

Severus felt his hands trembling, but nodded and lay back in his pillows again. He knew Skein was right, because he always was. Because not listening to him had never done Severus any good, as he remembered with a pained glance at his hands. But this year would be different, he swore to himself. He would not get into trouble - especially not with a certain insufferable bunch of Gryffindors, who seemed to provide him with a letter home every time they crossed his way. He would study, and he would sleep, and until next summer he would be doing nothing else.

The upcoming silence told him that Skein had left again and he curled together just slightly, shifting with his arm under his head. Oh yes, this year would be _very_ different from the previous one. Charlie, he decided, would indeed come again.


	2. Back Again

**

Back again...

**

From a sweet and pleasant dream involving hooded people behind masks and the bite of a gigantic serpent Lucius Malfoy was drawn back into reality by a penetrating, squeaky voice that confused him at first, then made him sit bolt upright.

'Severus!' he snapped and the sqeaking disappeared at once, 'how dare you wake me up at,' he glanced at his watch and frowned, 'three? It is three o'clock in the morning? What the devil are you here for?'

'Lucius,' the minute second-year sobbed, 'can you help me? I - I don't know what to do.' Severus' voice was back to normal, but shaking. He rarely spoke in more than a whisper, forcing people to listen very closely if they wanted to hear what he had to say. An agitated, timid child. Hardly anyone liked him. Lucius sighed and sat up.

'All right then,' he said, 'what is it this time? Don't tell me there's another ghost in your bedroom.' Severus shook his head.

'Lucius, my - my homework is gone again. The whole lot. I put it in my bag. I know I have. But it is gone. A whole week's work.'

'What?' hissed Lucius now fully awake. 'But that would be the third time this month. How can all your homework disappear at once - three times within two weeks?'

'I don't know. But I've been doing it. I swear, Lucius. I was sitting in the library, and...'

'You've done it in the library?'

'Yes, I know you've told me to do it down here, Lucius, but I need books to do most subjects. I need to look things up.'

Lucius sighed and shook his head slightly, just enough for Severus to see. 'When you are up there you keep bumping into those Gryffindors, aren't you?'

Severus shrugged.

'Don't be so thick, Severus. They keep hexing you. It is disgraceful.'

'Are you saying... it is a spell that made my homework disappear?'

Lucius sighed, got up and took his wand from the table next to his bed. He pointed it at the notes Severus was clutching against his chest and muttered, 'Evanesco.'

The parchment vanished.

'You know,' he said, restoring the wand to its usual place and sitting down at his bed again, 'these things are not exactly difficult. You'll need to learn how to protect yourself against them. Better yet, how to strike back.'

'What do I have to do?' asked Severus eagerly. 'I'll do anything.'

'Very well then,' said Lucius, looking slightly drained, but perfectly concerted, 'I will show you a couple of spells and which books will lead you the right way. Tomorrow.'

'But Lucius,' Severus's voice had assumed a frightened tone again and was squeaky once more, 'what about my homework?'

'Well, you'll just have to do it again,' Lucius replied sleepily, pulling his blanket up to his chin, 'that'll teach you not to do your homework in the library. I advise you to do McGonagall's stuff first. She'll be furious if you tell her you have failed to do that essay again.' He closed his eyes and heard Severus's short, jerky breathing in the darkness. 'And don't you dare cry,' he added as an afterthought. 'It is getting embarrassing.'

***

The day had started with a pleasant surprise. Remus was back, looking as healthy as ever, though still pale.

'It was terrible this month,' was all they got out of him, 'but then again - it always is.'

'You sure you don't want us to help you?' James asked in a would-be casual sort of voice. 'Sirius has found some excellent spells to keep a wizard safe from a werewolf. We could try them some time.'

'No!' Remus hissed and his voice was becoming slightly nervous. 'I don't want you endangered. I would never forgive myself if I injured or killed any of you. I can only say it again: keep away from the Shrieking Shack when I'm in there!'

'All right, mate,' James laughed. 'I get it. But if we found a perfectly secure way to keep you company - wouldn't you like that?'

'It would be heavenly,' Remus sighed.

Today's first lesson was Double Transfiguration - with the Slytherins. Strictly obeying the second year's usual timetable. ('What the...' James had said when they had learned about it. 'A whole year Transfiguration with those dunces? No way!' But it had been no use, of course.)

Professor McGonagall had asked them to do an essay on the transfiguration of invertebrates, which had taken an annoying two hours to write. For once, however, James refrained from complaining to his best friend Sirius Black about the waste of time homework was in general, as the lesson provided entertainment of much higher quality for a change.

'MR. SNAPE,' McGonagall shouted, 'I GET THE IMPRESSION THAT YE'RE NOT TAKING THIS CLASS VERY SERIOUSLY. DO I LOOK STUPID TAE YOU?'

In the corner of the classroom, next to (in fact, almost _behind_) the massive window curtains sat Severus Snape, a tiny, greasy-haired Slytherin, whom James had disliked from the first moment he had set eyes on him. A feeling that was perfectly mutual, of course.

Snape was shaking very badly at the moment and his already sallow skin had lost whatever colour was left on it. James thought that he looked a bit like an ill-treated cat. Then again, he had always felt sorry for those, whereas although Snape was clearly on the verge of tears, James could not say with honesty that he had any sympathy for the slimy little git. McGonagall, on the other hand, had clearly noticed that something was wrong and lowered her voice ever so slightly in what seemed an effort of sounding sympathetic.

'You will do the essay this week and hand it in next time, along with today's homework, if you please,' she said, sounding extraordinarily composed all of a sudden. 'You will also do fifteen inches on the punctuality of homework for me. And I will have tae write a letter to your parents for your failing tae hand in your work for the third time in a row.'

James noticed that some of the other Slytherins were glaring derisively at Snape and exchanged a quick glance with Sirius, who seemed full of suppressed triumph. James winked, not knowing that Sirius had more news.

'Standard Book of Spells,' muttered the tall boy, a sneer playing around his handsomely curved mouth. 'Grade 4. Did I mention I discovered it only a month ago?'

James almost dropped his wand. 'You did that? You - what did you do?'

'Made his homework disappear,' grinned Sirius. 'The whole lot. I don't think he was too pleased when he found out - this morning. He was all shaky at breakfast. Don't think he managed to catch up.'

'You're evil,' replied James appreciatively. 'Can you teach me how to do it?'

Sirius nodded. 'It'll have to wait, though. We need to make sure no one notices. We're not supposed to do advanced spells yet. Only that... I couldn't keep my hands off it once I'd discovered it.'

'How come you read the fourth year's textbook?' James muttered under his breath, still careful to pretend he was turning a pea into a flea. Sirius shrugged.

'Found it in the library the other day. Madame Pince asked me what I was doing, and since I could hardly admit that I was looking for werewolf defences, I pretended to be interested in the OWL requirements for Charms. So she gave me the whole bunch of Standard Spellbooks, from grade one to five. They were quite interesting, actually. Did you know that there's a spell for-'

'Mr. Black! I am in no doobt the topics you two discuss are of profound interest, but might I ask ye tae keep yer mind on yer studies?! Where's your flea?'

James raised his eyebrows. Neither of them had got as far as to have an attempt on their pea yet. In fact, now he thought about it, Sirius had not even taken out his wand, which was not remotely supportive now they had to look like they had been working.

'Right,' said Sirius, putting a hand into his pocket in search for his wand. 'You see, Professor, I have some difficulties picturing the flea in my mind. They're so small, you see. How am I supposed to have a clear idea of what I want?'

'If ye'd care tae have a look,' said Professor McGonagall, now in an unmistakably sarcastic mood. 'There is this somewhat gigantic picture of a flea on the blackboard, due to the fact that Mr. Nott discovered this very problem - about fifteen minutes ago.'

Sirius stared at the board, then back at Professor McGonagall and grinned apologetically. 'Right,' he said again, having successfully pulled out his wand without her noticing. 'I... I'll have another go then, shall I?' He glanced at James, grinned, pointed his wand at the pea and muttered the incantation. A flash of light appeared and, to James's great surprise, the pea turned into a tiny insect which, to his eyes at least, looked everything a flea was supposed to be. Professor McGonagall was obviously surprised, too, but nevertheless very pleased.

'Well, Black,' she said approvingly, 'I see ye have bin paying attention after all. Very well then. Get oot yer quills and some parchment, everyone. I'm going tae dictate a few basic rules of Transfiguration.'

The rest of the lesson passed without much excitement. McGonagall handed back their latest homework (an essay on Transfiguration basic theory) when the bell rang, and James threw a curious look at Sirius's work, which seemed to have earned a couple less points than his own. Grinning at his friend's expression he stuffed the paper into his bag and they made their way towards the dungeons, where they would be doing Potions after the break.


	3. More Trouble

**

More Trouble

**

Much to his discontentment, Lucius found himself sitting in the Slytherin common room the very next evening and the three evenings after that, giving up his weekend to explain tedious Defence basics to young Snape. He had hoped to be able to join his friends on their trip to Hogsmeade for once, but however hard he had tried to persuade Professor McGonagall that he was safe while they were around, the fact remained that they were seventeen and he was not, meaning that they could go and visit the village whenever they felt like it (except during lesson times, of course) while he had to remain at the castle on a permanent basis for (he calculated while Severus was reading the paragraph about stunning spells) another seven months, save for the very rare and (amongst students) highly valued Hogwarts weekends.

'There's two ways of reacting to a stunner,' Lucius explained when the younger boy had finished his lecture. 'You can either jump aside or use a counter curse. Which one would you prefer?'

'The former,' said Severus quietly.

'Wrong. You'd prefer the more elegant way of counter cursing your enemy, of course,' replied Lucius impatiently. 'We are going to try that in a minute. Where's your wand?'

Severus showed him.

'Stand like this. Always stand like this when you fight. In fact - try to stay like that on a permanent basis. No, not like that. Don't bend your legs! You look like a spider! And keep your wand close to your... hello? Severus? Are you still with me?'

Severus's eyes had assumed a glassy look and he was staring out of the window instead of keeping his mind on his lecture. Lucius was not pleased.

'SEVERUS!' he yelled, making the younger Slytherin give a startled yelp. 'I AM TALKING TO YOU!'

'Sorry,' muttered Severus. 'I - I was wondering why they keep doing this. What - uhm - could be their motivation.'

'I should have known you'd be too busy pitying yourself to actually do something about it,' Lucius sneered, 'I can but say it again, you lack proper Slytherin p-'

'I wasn't pitying myself,' Severus snapped. 'I am trying to think of a way to pay them back.'

Lucius remained silent for a while. A strange gleam had appeared in Severus's eyes. One he had never seen in them before.

'Well,' he said finally, 'you could tell on them, of course, but -'

'But I'll never be able to prove it is them who're jinxing my homework,' snorted Severus. 'I got as far as that.'

'And jinxing them back might not be such a good idea as they're bound to know the counter curse and outnumber you four to one.'

'B-but - you're with me.'

'I am with you only for another year,' said Lucius indignantly. 'No, you'll have to find a reliable group of friends if you want protection against that Gryffindor scum.'

'Professor McGonagall,' said Severus quietly.

'I beg your pardon?'

Lucius was not at all convinced that Professor McGonagall was such a 'reliable friend against Gryffindor scum', but he decided to listen to what Severus had to say first.

'I'll have them make _her_ stuff disappear. Then she'll know what they're doing and put them in detention. Possibly even expel them.'

'I doubt it,' said Lucius coolly. 'And in any case - how would you do that?'

'I'll swap bags with her,' Severus said breathlessly. 'No one will notice - Professor McGonagall's bag looks very like mine.'

'Indeed,' agreed Lucius. 'They must be the only two tartan bags currently residing at Hogwarts. How are you going to swap them?'

'I'll offer to carry hers,' muttered Severus, clearly picturing the individual steps of his plan in his mind now. 'I've done it before. I'll just... not take my own this time. And I'll carry hers as if it was mine. No one is going to notice the difference. Least of all pompous Potter and blasted Black.'

'Not to spoil your mood or anything,' Lucius said slowly, 'but once they've let her stuff vanished... how are you going to prove that it wasn't you who did it?'

'I'll talk to her,' said Severus, now looking thoroughly happy. 'I'll stay near her all the time and talk. How can I talk and jinx her stuff at the same time?'

'Severus,' said Lucius in an urgent sort of voice, 'are you sure this is such a good idea?'

But Severus was not listening anymore. He was staring out of the window with big, glittering eyes again, seemingly picturing Professor McGonagall's reaction to his project, smiling a distinct and evil Slytherin smile.

* * *

'Good morning, Professor McGonagall.'

'Morning, Wilkins.'

'Good morning, Professor.'

'Morning, Professor McGonagall.'

'Good morning, Mr. Potter - Mr. Lupin, had a good night?'

'Very good, very pleasant, thank you, Professor.'

'That's good tae hear, Mr. Lupin.'

Days starting off like this were bound to turn out very pleasant. When making her way to the Great Hall to have some breakfast Minerva reminded herself that she had finished her last report to the school governors the previous evening, leaving no work whatsoever for today. She also remembered, not without pride, that she had managed to bring the Quidditch timetable in perfect order again, and that she might be able to start on small spiders with her second-years today after all, now they had all so successfully mastered their fleas. Yes, this day was certain to be a happy one.

'Morning, Rosier,' she said pleasantly, holding the door for another first-year Slytherin who had greeted her heartily, 'how is yer mother these days?'

'Better, Professor,' he replied. 'She is seeing a therapist now.'

'I am glad tae hear it,' said Minerva. 'Give her my love when you see her again, will ye?'

'I will,' he said politely. 'Thank you, Professor.'

'Morning, Professor McGonagall!'

Another sixth year, Hufflepuff this time, joined them on their way to the Great Hall.

'Morning Mr. Fawcett,' smiled Minerva, recognizing him as the student her colleague, Professor Sprout, kept talking about when describing her current experiments on water plants in greenhouse four. 'How's your Herbology project going?'

'Very well, thank you, Professor.'

'Excellent. I am glad you're making progress.'

'Splendid morning, Professor McG!'

This was less pleasant.

'Would you refrain from reducing my name to a mere three-letter word, Mr. Black? I must have told ye a thousand times that I cannae allow that.'

'Sorry, Professor, sorry. I just mean - I just wanted to say -'

'Black, what are ye wearing?'

The boy grinned, exposing a row of faultlessly white teeth.

'I'll take it off in a minute, Professor, I promise. But I'll need another couple of minutes. I am about to win a bet.'

'Ye will nae enter the Great Hall wearing that... _thing._'

'Oh don't make me take it off, Professor! James and I were betting on people's reactions to it.'

'No,' said Minerva firmly, 'you are to take it off. I dinnae allow pink bonnets with funeral decoration on it tae join the Gryffindor table. In fact - take it off noo and give it here. Where did ye get it?'

'James gave it to me. It's a birthday present. He hoped I would buy him the turquoise one in revenge, but I didn't. I put a couple of Fillibuster's into his bag, though. The small ones, you kn-' Sirius stopped. He had obviously not meant to say this much. He blushed, and took off the ridiculous witch's had he was wearing, handing it to her without further complaint.

'Sorry,' he grinned. 'Forget what I said.'

Minerva took the hat and, with a wave of her wand, transferred it to her office. 'Tae be collected at five this afternoon,' she said sternly. 'Now - off ye gae. Dinnae let your friend wait.'

James Potter had appeared at the end of the corridor again and Sirius joined him in a run towards the Great Hall. Minerva shook her head, allowing an indistinct smile to linger on her face for a second. Brats.

When breakfast was over, she collected all her books for the day's first lesson and made her way to the Transfiguration classroom. On her way upstairs, however, she bumped into yet another student. Severus Snape had obviously not joined the meal and offered politely to carry her bag upstairs.

'Thank you, Mr. Snape,' she said, allowing a knowing smile play around her lips. 'Have you overslept again?'

'No, I - I had things to do,' he replied, swinging her bag casually over his shoulder. 'I wanted to get started on our Charms essay - early,' he added hastily, seeing her frown. 'It is not due until next week.'

Minerva nodded slowly. 'So... have ye managed tae do your homework for me this time? Have ye done the essay?'

'Yes, of course,' replied the boy tensely. 'All I had to do was rewrite it. I always do my assignments. It's just a question whether they vanish or not. But it won't happen this time, because I put it upstairs al-'

'Dinnae be ridiculous,' said Minerva sternly. 'Ye havenae finished the last three essays I set ye. How can ye possibly claim you're always doing them?'

'I told you they keep vanishing. And I can prove I've done them. I can tell you every detail I wrote for the last one, if you like,' said Snape, sounding insulted. 'And the other ones as well. In fact, I know the whole beginning of 'The precision of words is vital to the transfiguration of invertebrates. Discuss!' by heart. Would you like to hear it?'

Minerva sighed. 'Severus, I dinnae -' she stopped, realizing that she had addressed him with his first name yet again. Where did this familiarity come from she always felt with him? The feeling he should be cuddled and not shouted at? Was this normal?

She resolved that it was. Sometimes, at least. He was not the first student she felt she could relate to. The first who was not in Gryffindor, yes, but not the first altogether. And yet - this boy was different. He appeared to lack something only a mother could give him. As if he needed her attention.

'Well, if ye must,' she said, more softly than intended, and turned into the corridor that led directly towards the Transfiguration classroom, 'fire away, then.'

Snape took a deep breath.

_'The transfiguration of invertebrates requires a somewhat different attitude towards the actual performance of the spell than mere object-changing. For once, animals possess a great deal of parts that might not be obvious to the performing witch or wizard, meaning that the precision of the incantation is a great deal more important for a successful transfor-'_

'Wait a moment,' Minerva said, suddenly feeling slightly confused. 'A ken this one. It isnae _your_ essay. I've seen it. It is someone else's.'

Snape gave her a blank stare. 'What do you mean - someone else's?'

'I seem to remember,' said Minerva, assuming a stern tone, 'that this is the exact beginning of the essay Mr. Black handed in. Dinnae take me for a daft old lady, me lad. I remember most essays I have graded. And this particular one wasnae written in your hand. It wis Sirius Black's.'

The boy seemed to need a few moments to have that information sink in. He bit his lip and Minerva noticed that his tiny hands were balled to fists. He looked up and gave her what looked like an enormously restraint glare. 'And... what did you give him?'

'I should not think that is any of your business,' she said coolly, opening the door of the Transfiguration classroom where most students were already sitting and waiting. They got up when she entered. 'But I can tell you that it was certainly up to his usual standard.'

Motioning the class to sit down she discovered said Black at his place next to James Potter in the front row and gave him a surprised but approving smile. However had he managed to get here before she did? Had she not seen him fool around at the breakfast table before she had left the Great Hall? Young Snape seemed to wonder the same thing. He gave Black and Potter a puzzled look, who grinned at him and winked at each other. Minerva had the slight suspicion that something was going on in which she did not have any insight.

'Settle down,' she said to a few last-minute students who were entering the room. 'You too, Mr. Snape. Please.'

But Snape was preoccupied. His eyes were darting from the two Gryffindors to his own place and back, filling themselves with what - Minerva could not believe it - seemed to be angry tears.

'Give it back!' he snarled. 'It was right here! I know you took it!'

'Mr. Snape, what is wrong?' said Minerva in a demanding voice. 'Black? Potter? What is going on?'

'I have no idea, Professor,' said Potter with a puzzled expression. 'Snape seems to think we have -'

'- vanished my homework!' squeaked his black-haired classmate exasperatedly. 'They did it again! Professor, I swear I placed it here before coming down to -' he stopped, turning pale. Minerva looked down at him in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

'To do what, Mr. Snape? Speak clearly! Your story disnae appear tae make any sense yet.'

But Snape did not speak. He looked as if he had just realized something horrible, which he was unable to change now, and Minerva could very well imagine what that might be.

'Is it safe tae assume that ye'll fail tae hand in yer homework _again_?' she enquired sarcastically. Snape lowered his head. 'Professor, I -'

'I shall put ye in detention this time,' she said curtly. 'Ye're lying tae me and ye constantly fail tae hand in yer homework. I am very disappointed in you.'

'It isn't my fault, Professor,' whispered Snape. 'It's them! They -'

'I dinnae believe a word,' interrupted Minerva, getting more and more angry with the slothful Slytherin in front of her. 'Ye're failing tae dae the work that is required of ye and need a _scapegoat_ for it. I am no longer prepared tae listen to any more of your lies. And I assure ye that, if this happens again, I shall have tae summon yer parents for a short meeting and give you a warning of suspension.'

Snape's eyes widened. 'Oh no,' he whispered. Minerva merely pointed to his place on the right hand side of the classroom.

'Sit,' she said. Snape sat.

Minerva saw his black eyes glittering, not of tears for a change, but, as she realized with sudden surprise, with a new gleam of hatred towards Potter and Black. Her heart sank. She was sure that she had just experienced what Albus had always called an 'unavoidable occasional misjudgement of the situation'. She decided to ponder over the matter after the lesson, however, and began to determinedly unpack her bag, handing her students back their most recent assignment.


	4. Transfiguration and Flying

**

Transfiguration and Flying

**

Remus found it unbelievable that the library was deserted on a Wednesday afternoon in the middle of the term. Wednesday, the only day of the week when they were allowed to stay out of bed until their nightly astronomy lesson, which began at exactly twelve o'clock, had a rare value for the young werewolf, though he had difficulties sharing this feeling with his best friends Peter, James and Sirius. They just - could not see what he saw at night, when the light and the business of the day had faded into clear, cool darkness. They could not feel the traces of magic - its fine sounds and the scent of thousands of spells - that surrounded the castle, but they were highly perceptible for Remus's sensible nose and ears. He supposed this was one of the very few advantages of being a werewolf - the only one, now he thought about it. But this was another feeling he would rather not share with his friends.

At the moment, all three of them were too preoccupied anyway, browsing a book called "_The seventeen most famous encounters with werewolves_" for a way of protecting themselves against him during his monthly transformation. They intended to keep him company at all costs and although Remus was eternally grateful for having such great friends, he could not help feeling that this was too dangerous to be carried out. Stupid and dangerous.

'What if it doesn't work out and I kill -' he began for the fifth time tonight.

'Shut up,' they said in unison - for the fourth time tonight.

'Alright, alright,' he muttered. 'I am just worried. I won't let you near me if it isn't a hundred percent safe.'

'What do you think we're searching this stupid book for?' snapped Sirius. 'We are going to find a way that is a hundred percent safe. Only that I don't see you being much of a help at the moment.'

'Well, I suppose that would be because I feel completely safe when I get near a werewolf at full moon,' said Remus sarcastically.

'You could help us look for defence methods,' said James, now also looking up from his lecture. 'I am sure we could profit from your knowledge -'

'How often do I have to tell you,' said Remus impatiently, 'I do not have any knowledge. I got bitten, that's all. Mum never even told me who did it. And she never taught me any defence spells either, for apparent reasons.'

Sirius laughed. James turned back to the book, looking slightly affronted. Remus' heart sank. 'I - I am sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean it.'

'Come on then,' said James indignantly. 'Make yourself useful. You can take this copy and start from the back.'

Hours passed by. It had to be ten o'clock - eleven, perhaps. Remus could not tell for sure. They had fruitlessly gone through _Dangerous Beasts and How to Fight Them_ by Newt Scamander, _Advanced Defence Curses_ by A. Moody and _Where There's a Wand, There's a Way,_ which seemed to put all sorts of silly ideas into Sirius's head.

'Let's try this one,' he said eagerly. 'Oh look, they've taken a picture of the bloke after he tried to transfigure himself back. What an idiot!'

'Sirius, you can't do that one,' said Remus quietly. 'It is ridiculously advanced. And in any case - it won't help you fight off... fight off a werewolf at full moon.'

'That's true,' nodded James. 'We need to take care of that first. What other books have we got?'

'Those were all I could find over here,' said Peter, pointing in the general direction of the shelves in front of the Restricted Section. But we can continue here, if -'

'Blimey,' gasped Sirius suddenly, now absorbed in a book called _Transfiguration Listings Part II_. 'Go on, have a look at that, Jay.'

James bent over the book Sirius was pointing at and let out a gasp himself. 'Sirius,' he said slowly. 'You thinking what I -'

'I never knew Professor McGonagall could turn into a cat either,' said Peter awestruck. 'You're right - it is very impressive.'

Two faces turned, very slowly, assuming an almost identical frown. James and Sirius did look like brothers at times, Remus thought.

'Peter!' said James in a low and indignant voice. 'Don't you get it? Werewolves don't attack animals. They only go after humans. This is our ticket into the Shrieking Shack!'

Remus whirled around. 'What?' he gasped. 'No way!' He turned towards Sirius and tried to give his voice a pleading tone. 'Tell me you're not really planning to do this. You can't!'

'Well,' said Sirius matter-of-factly, 'we can't - just yet. But we could work it out.'

'No,' begged Remus. 'Please don't! It's dangerous, and... and far too difficult. You -' but he broke off. Remembering how James took it when things were not going his way, he decided to do their friendship a favour and not argue for once. They would soon realise how stupid it was to believe that they, three underage wizards, could become Animagi without any of the staff and their fellow students noticing. This plan was bound to fail and James knew it.

'Well,' his friend said tentatively now, giving Remus a scrutinizing look, 'you do have a point. It will be difficult.'

'You're right,' nodded Sirius, who had become very silent for the last few minutes, gazing at the register, which clearly stated that, this century, only six witches and wizards had accomplished the difficult task of becoming Animagi, Professor McGonagall being one of them, but Remus had known, of course, that her skills surpassed anything they had seen from her so far. He smiled, and with a hint of relief in his voice said,

'Finally. I knew you'd see reason.'

Peter nodded. 'Far too dangerous, I agree.'

'And illegal,' whispered James with an odd gleam in his eyes.

'This is completely insane,' grinned Sirius, sounding more determined than ever. 'I love it!'

James grinned broadly. 'We'll have to do a bit of background reading,' he said eagerly. 'Go and have a look what else they've got in here on the subject!'

Sirius disappeared in the back of the library, returning only moments later with a bunch of books in his arms. James flipped through them as fast as possible and decided to have a go on a huge, black one.

'The _Advantages and Disadvantages of Being Able to Turn Into An Animal At Will,_' he read. 'Excellent. I'll start with this one.'

Sirius and James were so busy reading one book on advanced Transfiguration after another that they missed half of what was happening during their lessons the next day. The idea of becoming Animagi was too fascinating to let anything interfere, even if this meant they would have to do put some work into their Charms homework for a change in order to keep up with Professor Crockford's high expectations. Sirius was so eager to continue his reading after a long and undisturbed lunchbreak that he even suggested to skive off flying lessons. James, however, refused - politely as ever.

'Are you mad? I am not skipping lessons I take voluntarily. That's like pulling your own leg, isn't it? And in any case - this Transfiguration crap is not that important.'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'All right, mate,' he growled, 'no need to get shirty. I'll never understand why you're still doing flying lessons, by the way. You're on the _Quidditch team._'

'I love flying,' said James simply. 'No matter how boring the lessons are.'

'I think they should make it an optional subject,' said Sirius gloomily. 'Or better yet: stop teaching it at all. It's no use. I have yet to meet a witch or wizard who can't fly.'

'That's because they learn it at school,' said a voice behind them.

Remus and Peter were back.

'Well, you would know,' snapped Sirius. 'Actually, seeing you I think I've been wrong, Peter. I think you are the first wizard I've ever met who couldn't stick to a broom if his life depended on it.'

'I am not as bad as Snape,' said Peter in a hurt voice, causing Sirius to let out a bark of laughter.

'Oh yeah, I forgot about him,' he said. 'He hardly ever turns up for lessons these days though, does he?'

'I think he is afraid of heights,' said Remus calmly. 'You should stop ragging about it. It's not funny.'

'I think it is,' retorted Sirius. 'Though, admittedly, it's not as entertaining as it used to be. He just won't get better. And he knows it. Doesn't even try to pretend he could catch up anymore.'

James grinned. 'It was nicer when he did, wasn't it?'

'We're very late already,' interrupted Peter their reminiscences. 'Madame Hooch will be mad.'

'You're just afraid she'll have you be the first to mount your broom again,' said Sirius, getting up nevertheless and stuffing his book (_'Human Transformation - A Step By Step Guide'_) into his bag. 'As a demonstration of how little you can afford to be late for lessons. C'mon, then. Move!' He shoved Peter out of the Gryffindor common room, closely followed by Remus and James, who were still discussing Snape on their way down to the Quidditch field.

The lesson had not started yet, Sirius noticed with a glance at the Slytherins, who were assembled in the middle of the pitch already. Some were sitting on the grass, others standing near by, chatting and laughing. As they drew nearer Sirius could see that they were playing cards. And the girls were there. Evans, Wood, Katie - and Marlene McKinnon, Gryffindor's ginger head. They were standing a bit further away, chatting with some of the Slytherin girls, not noticing that their fellow Gryffindors had arrived. Sirius recognized his cousin Viola was not among them. She had made it into the Quidditch team this year, meaning that she was no longer obliged to attend flying lessons. Instead, she was practising Quidditch three times a week.

Sirius wondered how anyone could stand sitting on a broom this long. Once a week was fine. James was right - flying was fun, even though the lessons were dead boring. But three times a week? (Four, if you were James Potter, the boy who never got enough.) Sirius shuddered. Instantly, some of the girls looked up and some of them made to come over in an all too innocently casual way. James shooed them away.

'Gerroff,' he said with a thoroughly unpleasant look about him. 'We've got some men's talk to do.'

'We do?' asked Peter timidly when they were out of earshot. Sirius snorted.

'Jay's talking nonsense as usual. But it works. Look at them scowling.'

Some of the card-playing Slytherin boys had turned their heads and laughed. They seemed to have been discussing something and suddenly, a pair of them got up and approached them, each clutching a pack of cards.

'Wanna play?'

But at this moment, Madame Hooch arrived at the Quidditch field, with a bunch of broomsticks floating behind her.

'I'm very sorry for being late,' she panted. 'There was a Boggart in the shed. Another one. I really need to talk to the headmaster about them. They almost give me a heart attack each time. And Filch can't seem to get rid of them quickly enou-...' She stopped, seeing their blank expression with some astonishment. 'You do know what a Boggart is, don't you?' she said. 'Those disgusting beasts that turn into whatever you fear most? You must have covered them.'

They shook their heads.

'Well, never mind now,' said Madame Hooch, distributing the broomsticks among them. 'I am sure you will soon, if they keep breaking into the castle. Anyway, line up, please. I am checking stance and style today. You are going to get grades at the end of the month, so try to show some involvement. Potter, keep your feet on the ground. I know you are here on your own account, but that does not mean you can do whatever you want. Ready? On my whistle - three - two -'

'Oooh,' said Marlene McKinnon suddenly, 'I think Professor McGonagall wants a word with you, Madame Hooch.'

Their teacher turned. Down the hill, looking very fierce, came Professor McGonagall, dragging a small figure behind her. A student, obviously, who seemed more than uncomfortable with her dragging him all the way down by his ear. Sirius recognized him at an instant.

'I am sorry to interrupt yer lesson, Madame Hooch,' said Professor McGonagall in a stern voice. 'I am just restoring one of your students tae ye. Mr. Snape tells me he _got lost._' She gave the small Slytherin a very severe look and shoved him towards his fellow students. 'I trust ye'll be able tae talk some sense into him.'

And she left.

Madame Hooch gave Snape a look Professor McGonagall would have been proud of and motioned him to come forth.

'At Muggle schools they flog students for playing truant, you know,' she said. 'I do not approve of such means, but I advise you to not do it again. For you own good.'

Snape lowered his head, but did not speak.

'Come here,' snarled Madame Hooch. 'You will be the first to mount your broom. Lets see how you do it.'

She handed Snape a broomstick, who looked thoroughly unhappy now, but took it without complaint. He climbed onto it, his face remaining motionless though very pale, and kicked off the ground.

At first, Sirius thought nothing unusual was happening. Snape was hovering in mid-air for a few seconds and moved smoothly over the field, his legs floating just about three feet above the ground. Then, suddenly, the broom made a jerky movement, very similar to a bucking horse, and Snape was doing a somersault, landing safely on the soft grass in front of one of the Quidditch goalposts. He shook himself, looked around, and finally got up again, ignoring the laughter and the suggestive cheers from his fellow students. Even Madame Hooch seemed to have difficulties keeping her face straight.

'You are hopeless, Mr. Snape. I think I'll give up on you.'

She was joking, of course. And while Sirius, James and the other Gryffindors formatted for a nice, relaxing game of Quidditch against their Slytherin classmates, Sirius could see Madame Hooch walking off to one of the corners with Snape, giving him private instructions on how to be taken on a ride by a broomstick. Or better - how to not let it happen.


	5. The New Potionsmaster

**

The New Potionsmaster

**

Professor Minerva McGonagall considered herself professional. And as such, you sometimes had to remain in your office a few hours longer than planned, no matter how much you might have liked to go to your private chambers and have a little floo-chat with your best friend, or go down to the greenhouses to see Mandragora Sprout for a chat.

Tonight, however, was the night of Severus Snape's detention and she knew she would have to convey to him, once and for all, that he could not continue playing truant whenever he felt like staying in his dormitory instead of attending his classes. He had not only been known to skive off Flying, after all. Several of her colleagues had complained, during the last staff meeting, that Snape was absent in their lessons on a regular basis. And in an increasing manner. Why exactly Stochastica Vector, being Head of Slytherin after all, seemed incapable of putting a stop to this and had to ask the Deputy Headmistress to do her job escaped the latter's imagination. A simple conversation would do, she thought, and informing young Snape of the consequences of his actions.

Minerva sighed. On top of all the timetable problems this year, as well as a heap of family problems that needed attention almost as urgently as all her school work put together, and her double burden of having to teach Potions and Transfiguration until the new teacher arrived the last thing she needed now was a student out of control and the consequential measures that had to be taken in such a case. Indeed, Minerva McGonagall was almost ready to admit that, at present, she was doing more than was actually healthy for a witch in her fifties.

They said women around her age were going through rough years, moving from the wild years of a youngster (as far as the wizarding folk was concerned, at least) to the more mature status of a middle-aged woman with all the responsibility coming with it. The latter of which Minerva considered by no means a new element in her life. On the contrary. Having been a teacher for fifteen years now, the deputy headmistress was proud to say that if there was something she took pride of knowing, it was responsibility. In fact, you could not be a teacher if you did not have your life under control - in addition to that of others.

Minerva thrust a few essays in one of her many drawers and decided to have a look at them when she had more time again and a clear head.

They said women approaching the end of their youthful years got rather children-like again sometimes, having all sorts of strange ideas - and emotions, for that matter. They were irascible and often out of control. They said. Men said. Who wrote the majority of the bloody books on mid-life crisis? Men did, didn't they? Also, Minerva assumed that the authors of _Women's First Five Decades Completion_ and similar works were confusing Muggle women's midlife-crisis (which happened around this age, often even earlier) with the maturing time of the average witch. Annoyingly, as the same development could be observed with wizards of the same age without anyone complaining.

Another heap of essays vanished inside the drawer, along with her favourite quill and the rest of her green ink. She shut the last drawer with a bang and looked up. Tensely, thoughtfully.

All the work in the world could not get onto her if she kept a clear head to put all of it in order, deciding what to do first and what to do later. With the ongoing Pureblood discussion, however, which threatened to tear her family apart (and herself, in times), Minerva realised that she could not for a minute concentrate properly during lessons, staff meetings, and when trying to sort out her everyday duties. Among them, reporting to the headmaster if anything was going wrong.

She should have talked to him about the new threat raising from amongst the wizarding world's midst. She should have talked to him about - what had been his name... Rudolphus Lestrange's unusual remark and what it had caused among the McGillivrays...

She also should have been talking to Topaz again, asking him about the increasing amount of giant attacks lately. Enquiring his opinion on the matter. He _was_ a medical expert, after all. Maybe there was still time to... She eyed her office's fireplace and bit her lip. No. Young Snape had to arrive any minute, and she did not want him to step into a conversation with her ex-husband.

A feeble knock on the door confirmed her expectations and she settled down on her desk quickly, setting up her most convincingly displeased teacher's expression, which, as she knew, made her look exactly like her mother in younger years.

'Ay-yes?' she corrected herself quickly, thinking that she had to make a serious impression on the boy if she wanted to get anywhere with him. 'Come in!'

The door opened slowly and Severus Snape squeezed himself through its gap, staying close to the wall with his back almost pressing against it while shutting the door as quietly as he had opened it. He seemed very tense, watching her through his big, black eyes, looking very much like a puppy that was leaving its basket for the first time in his life, not knowing what to expect from the world outside.

Minerva motioned him to sit down in front of her desk and he did so, not without pulling the chair just a bit further away from her reach. She suddenly wondered whether he was merely fishing for attention again, or actually afraid of what she might consider an adequate punishment for his actions. The staff had a lot of control over the students' lives, and one sometimes forgot just how intimidating this situation might be on a less confident child.

'You have been playing truant,' she said slowly, very conscious of her speech and posture, careful not to slip even once. 'Repeatedly. You have not attended a single flying lesson since the start of term. Which, if I calculate correctly, gives us four lessons, including a further attempt this afternoon. Do you have anything tae say to that?'

Snape, who had been mouthing 'four', apparently subconsciously, as soon as she had mentioned it, stopped and held his breath. After a while of just staring at her, he gulped, lowered his head and shook it.

'No, Professor.'

Minerva crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair and sighed impatiently.

'Mr Snape, the situation cannot continue. I find you are not adapting to school life properly this year. First your constant refusal to do your homework, then I find out that you are repeatedly skiving off lessons, which,' she bent slightly forward, 'you _cannot_ really afford missing.'

Snape did not move.

'Do you want me to write another letter to your parents?' said Minerva sternly. 'I would prefer not to,' (Mr. Snape senior and his wife had not reacted to a single owl she had sent them this year, and she suspected that they were ignoring them, as Slytherin parents tended to.) 'but I shall, if you cannot convince me that things are going to change for the better.'

Snape still did not move.

'Another option,' Minerva continued, feeling a light frown appear at her face, 'would be to suspend you for... say... the amount of two weeks. But I daresay there is no sense in suspending truants, so I won't.'

This time, the horror on Snape's face, followed by an instant, total relief was clearly visible. He remained sound- and motionless, however, and continued to look at her, as if waiting for something.

'He is waiting for me to name his punishment,' thought Minerva suddenly. 'Nothing more. He is not even going to try and defend himself.' She made an awkward pause, surveying Snape closely through her square spectacles, finding his behaviour not only remarkable now, but slightly worrying.

'Talk tae me,' she finally demanded, dropping whatever course she had been planning to take. 'Mr. Snape. Look at me and tell me why ye willnae even _try_ and stick to the school rules!'

A pair of puzzled black eyes met hers, widening slightly at this last sentence.

'I have been keeping them,' said Snape quickly. 'I... I mean I would have, but...'

He fell silent again.

Minerva felt herself getting impatient and got up, rounding the table and positioning herself in front of the small Slytherin boy, who shrank back on cue, watching her like a rabbit would be watching a dog - or a hunter.

'You'll do lines,' she said crossly, tapping his chest with one, lengthy finger. 'I'll let ye get off with lines again. But I expect to _not_ catch you in the corridors again, and I expect you to make an effort of getting all your work done in due time. I shall be having an _eye_ on whether you are making an effort, is that understood?'

Snape nodded quickly, having gone surprisingly white in the face.

'Yes, Professor,' he whispered. 'I'll... try and keep out of trouble!'

Minerva was not sure what to make of this behaviour. On the one hand, Snape seemed mortally afraid whenever he was sitting on this chair in her office, promising to do better in future, on the other hand she had seen too many clever students putting up exactly this behaviour to avoid detention, suspension, or even a well-deserved thrashing, to still be fooled by it.

'No,' she said finally, resolving to make sure he understood her. 'You won't be trying. You will succeed. Or you'll be in trouble - with _me_!'

Snape's face lost what colour was left on it and he nodded again hastily.

'Yes, miss,' he whispered, seemingly at a loss what else to say.

'Guid,' said Minerva. 'You have time till tomorrow. Two feet of _'No more skiving'_. Off wi ye noo! I willnae waste my evening on you.'

Snape jumped up instantly and left her office, almost in a run, though he was careful to open and close the door as soundlessly as before. Minerva wondered for a second, whether she found this unusual or not. (He was a Slytherin, after all. And the son of probably the noisiest person she had ever met.) She decided, however, that it was time now for a break from work, even though, ironically, the worst part of the day lay still in front of her.

A certain person had applied for the position of the Potions teacher and she had to convince Albus Dumbledore that, despite their difficulties of finding anyone at all, despite the impossibility of her doing both subjects for a whole year, and despite his apparent suitability, that her uncle Angus was the last person she would entrust with teaching a horde of students of whatever age - for a whole year.

* * *

On Friday evening of the same week, half the Hogwarts staff found themselves sitting in The Three Broomsticks once again, discussing more or less important matters of the daily school life and, not surprisingly, also political subjects, some of them concerning the appointment of Governor Fumes as the new Minister for Educational Affairs.

Mandy knew that if she got Minerva McGonagall going (over a pint or two) the Deputy Headmistress would tell her about everything that was going on in- and outside of school, but she was surprised to find that her friend had apparently taken the evening off and locked herself into her private chambers with a history book in one, a tartan teapot in the other hand. Stochastica had seen her shout at a student shortly beforehand and seemed slightly worried about Minerva's general state of mind. Mandy, however, knowing that this had to be one of her friend's strange moods, managed to calm the Head of Slytherin just a little bit and managed to engage her into a conversation about politics, politicians, and wizards in general.

'You know,' said Stochastica without much enthusiasm, even after the third round of butterbeer, 'it seems to me that our kind are going mad over the whole matter. If not even old McGillivray can seem to decide whom to support - which position are we to take then? And we cannot trust anyone to keep quiet about certain matters either, can we? I mean... I mean, few people actually leap into action, of course. Most of them just meet for large dinner parties during the Easter holidays or on Christmas Eve and complain about the objectionable circumstances of Muggleborns being taught alongside Purebloods these days. But they're never actually seen doing anything against it.'

Mandy was confused.

'Is that what you think? That one should do something against Muggleborns being taught at Hogwarts?' she said disbelievingly. 'Surely you don't think so. Surely you know how much more dangerous it is to have them run around loosely in their world, with all that uncontrolled magic about them?'

Stochastica did not reply. She was busy refilling her glass, but Mandy could see that she was also simply disinclined to discuss this matter. Instead, she tried to change the subject. Abruptly, without much effort.

'You spoken to Minerva about the four rule-breakers yet?'

Mandy looked up, half irritated, half surprised. 'No. How am I supposed to speak to someone who is constantly working or arguing with wavering family members?' She grinned at her own pun. Stochastica, however, must have missed it, or perhaps she had not come across Minerva's uncle Angus yet. In any case, the matter of James Potter and his league seemed more important to her at the moment, so she pressed on, 'But you _will_ speak to her, won't you?'

'Stochi,' said Mandy patiently. 'What do you want me to do? Just because this Nott fellow _tells_ you people have been duelling in the corridors, do you honestly believe we can call them to account for that? For Merlin's sake, you must know that half your students cannot seem to tell the difference between a lie and the truth. And Snape could simply have had too much dinner.'

'Have you ever seen that boy eat too much?' asked Stochastica defiantly. 'And anyway, my students aren't lying any more often than yours, Mandy. Don't give me that nonsense.'

Mandy shrugged. 'We have had this discussion and do not seem to come to terms there. But Nott has lied to me before. Especially about Minerva's second-years. They seem to provoke a lot of peculiar reactions from their fellow students.'

'No wonder,' said Stochastica grimly. 'A fine lot those four. Unbelievable, really, that the Gryffindor tower is still standing. This year's second years really are... how did Minerva put it... "an unbearable group of troublemakers"?'

'I believe that "friends" is what she said,' came a voice from behind Mandy and she turned around in surprise, discovering that it belonged to a young man of about Stochastica's height, with long, blonde hair and a small goatee, who was wearing the red uniform of a border soldier and was giving her a thin, though not unkind smile before stating: 'She also called them "intriguing" rather than "unbearable" I seem to remember. But I may be mistaken, of course. It is only what I have been told by my cousin.'

'Well, you would be biased,' snapped Stochastica, not indicating that she was at least as surprised about the man's sudden appearance as Mandy had been. 'You are related to at least two of them, aren't you?'

'Three,' said the man without changing his expression. Mandy frowned.

'You are... who are you?' she requested grumpily, not being used to meeting strangers in The Three Broomsticks. 'I don't think I have seen you in Hogsmeade before.'

'The reason being that I have only arrived this morning,' replied the soldier, holding out his hand in a somewhat slippery, over-correct manner. 'My name is Rodney Robertson, Professor Sprout. I am...'

'...the grandson of Moirai Robertson!' breathed Mandy. 'Is it possible? I thought you hadn't even started school yet!'

'Well, I have never been to Hogwarts,' said Robertson matter-of-factly. 'You might have expected that, though, considering my father's view on British schools.'

Stochastica frowned. Mandy realised that there was something wrong with the way Robertson had mentioned his father, but did not find out what it was until her colleague finally said, very pointedly: 'What father?'

Robertson's expression did not move an inch. 'I call him father,' he said. 'He is my grandmother's boyfriend. Far too young to be my grandfather, so we decided this would be the best solution.'

'What happened to your real parents?' enquired Mandy curiously. Robertson frowned, making clear that he had no intention of discussing the subject.

'Anyway,' snapped Stochastica, persistently sipping her drink. 'Moirai has been attending Hogwarts herself. For seven years. One should think that she considers herself adequately educated?'

Rodney shrugged. 'I don't know. Father said it would be better for me if he took over my education, and so he did.'

'What are you doing at the moment?' requested Mandy after a little while of watching him. 'Joined the wizarding army, have you?'

'Father insisted,' said Robertson, a smile playing around his bearded face. 'No, seriously. It is the only right thing to do these days, isn't it?' He grinned. 'Apart from being teacher, of course. I am looking forward to this... _very_ new experience.'

Mandy stared at him. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

'I suspect Dumbledore has found a replacement for our vacancy at last,' remarked Stochastica coldly, putting two and two together in her accustomed Slytherin way of thinking, and watching their opposite with renewed interest. 'Meaning you are to teach Potions, young Robertson?'

'To gain some experience in the guidance of young people,' said the soldier. 'And for no more than a year either. I am going to try for the officer's academy down in M'bwa next summer. But until then, my grandmother wants me to spend my time in a useful way, so... here I am.'

'Minerva will be pleased,' Stochastica said, turning to Mandy once more. 'She has been unnerved for weeks. You cannot ask anyone to teach more than one subject at once at Hogwarts. It just isn't possible.'

'She is using a time-turner,' shrugged Mandy. 'I expect it would be manageable.'

Rodney Robertson's gaze darkened. 'A time-turner?' he said sternly. 'From the Ministry of Magic? How on earth...'

'Albus Dumbledore tends to get what he needs,' said Mandy with a dismissive gesture. 'Don't ask, Rodney. This is out of our hands.'

'A time-turner at a public place such as Hogwarts is against the law,' said the young soldier sternly. 'The governors would never support such a -...'

'Ah, but the governors haven't much of a say in this, I'm afraid,' replied Mandy coldly. 'Albus knows what it takes to run a school properly and tends to get whatever he requires. Good thing they finally made him headmaster. Hogwarts can only benefit from that.'

'Time-turners,' said Robertson persistently, 'are only to be used in cases of a severe emergency, restricted to those listed in paragraph nineteen of the educational enactment of nineteen-...'

'Don't wet yourself,' said Stochastica, chewing her straw. 'I agree that it is entirely Dumbledore's choice whether he allows time-turners at his school or not. If he doesn't know what he is doing, I daresay - who is?'

'And in any case,' added Mandy, 'it is not a real time-turner. Nothing over the range of five or six hours. No one will be interested in such a small matter.'

'It is against the law...' began Robertson again, but Mandy cut him off sharply.

'See here, lad,' she said sternly, 'there is one law at Hogwarts which you'll have to take into account, and one only: Dumbledore is to be trusted. His decisions are always well-considered and very advisable. If we cannot trust him...'

'...I daresay we can't trust anyone anymore these days,' finished Stochastica her sentence, causing Mandy to give her a puzzled, though thankful look. Robertson grinned.

'I think I gathered as much by now,' he said. 'You have a lot of faith in this man, don't you?'

Both witches nodded on cue.

'Well,' said Robertson,' I was taught to trust none but myself. Especially in situations such as the current political state of affairs.'

Stochastica rolled her eyes. 'I can see why Albus would want you to join the Hogwarts staff,' she said sarcastically. 'Let us drink to your arrival, Rodney Robertson, shall we? We have awaited you eagerly, in replacement for our dear Hestia.'

'I don't drink,' said Robertson, his face unmoving. 'And I am to meet the headmaster first thing tomorrow morning. But thank you. I'll talk to you at breakfast.'

And with this he vanished as abruptly as he had interrupted their conversation.

'You know whom he reminds me of?' said Mandy when the entrance door had closed behind Robertson's red uniform. Stochastica shook her head, refilling her glass with a wave of her left hand.

'Seems like just any of these daft soldiers to me,' she said drowsily. 'Too slow to think and too quick to grasp. In the literal sense, that is.' She grinned.

'Yes, but...' Mandy was thinking. 'Well, I know it was before your time, but do you remember who Minerva's first boyfriend was at school?' She grinned as well, involuntarily, and realised that Stochastica was eyeing her with interest now.

'No. Who was it?'

Mandy put up a meaningful expression. 'You have seen him at the Ministry last week. And I daresay he is one of Rodney's superiors, though I cannot tell for sure...'

Stochastica gave her a slight frown and sipped her drink again. 'If you are talking about the person I have in mind you are being disgusting,' she finally said in her usual straightforward manner. 'Not that that is unusual with you, of course.'

Mandy felt insulted.

'You know,' said Stochastica after a while, 'I keep being surprised by the amount of things you know - or pretend to know. And the kinds of conclusions you draw by a simple visual similarity.' She did not seem actually annoyed, Mandy resolved inwardly. Meaning that the Head of Slytherin actually had a sense of humour. She would have to tell Minerva about it.

'Besides,' said her colleague in mock sternness, 'I don't see how you think you can state that Minerva's first relationship was before my time when you are almost ten years younger than I am! How come you know everything about every person in this castle ages before everyone else does?'

Mandy snorted into her pint.

'Connections, Stochi' she said light-heartedly after a short while. 'Connections and perfect timing. That is all it takes.'


	6. Duelling Matters

**

Duelling Matters

**

'Duelling,' snapped Sirius.

'...in the corridors,' added Peter.

'That's an insult that is,' snorted James. 'As if Snape - him of all people! - would take all four of us single-handedly. Ha!' He slammed his bag into one corner of the common room and himself into the armchair opposite of it, feeling that he would like some ice cream now. Or a liquorice wand at least.

'Professor Vector isn't exactly what you would call a shining example of Slytherin's more intelligent specimen,' said Sirius darkly. 'Good thing, too. Or we'd be in detention now. _Again_!'

'Yeah, I'm sick of it as well,' snorted Remus. 'Three times within a month is just too much.'

James gave him a quick grin, suppressing his urge to point out that for him, three times within a week would have been closer to reality, and instead stated: 'Depends on the kind of detention I should say.'

'You are talking of the Forbidden Forest one, aren't you?' grinned Sirius, settling down in front of the fireplace as well, beckoning Remus to take the seat next to him.

'Ooh,' remarked Peter, 'don't remind me of that night. It was awful!'

Remus frowned. 'When have you three been sent in the Forbidden Forest? As a detention?'

James saw the disbelief on his face and stretched his legs in what he hoped was a relaxed and superior-looking manner.

'Oh, last year,' said Sirius airily. 'You weren't there. Busy with your full-moon ailment, I seem to remember. Missed some smashing good fun, you did.'

'Matter of opinion,' muttered Peter, watching Remus unfold a piece of parchment, which he had been holding for some time now, and started reading it over the taller boy's shoulder.

'What've you got there?' enquired James curiously, dropping his last feeble intention of busying himself with his Transfiguration textbook. 'A letter?'

Remus nodded. 'Got it from Bina,' he muttered. 'She went off to Rumania this weekend with the other fourth-years. They're doing their study trips, visiting dragon reservations and the like.'

The effect these words had on James and Sirius was astounding. Both boys leaned forward, watching their friend in a mixture of sudden interest and suppressed yearning.

'Rumania?' inquired Sirius.

Remus nodded. 'It's where she says she is. They're still travelling, though. Maybe that's not where the dragons are, I don't know.'

'I wish we'd do study trips like that,' sighed James, staring into the fireplace dreamily.

'Getting to see foreign countries,' nodded Peter.

'And real dragons!' stated Sirius.

'What did she write?' enquired Peter curiously, peering over Remus's shoulder, who hastily turned the letter, giving his friend a most reproachful look.

'This is private,' he said snobbishly, shoving the letter into his bag. 'Don't we have any more homework to do?'

Three dismissive groans told him that, even if this was the case, none of his friends had any intention to change their usual habit of pushing back their work to the utmost limit - usually Sunday evening shortly before the lights were extinguished.

Suddenly, however, Sirius jumped to his feet, making Peter jump at least a foot into the air out of surprise, and gathered his things together in what actually seemed a disturbed hurry to his surprised friends.

'Easy,' said James, hiding his astonishment. 'What got into you?'

'I forgot,' muttered Sirius, thrusting the last book into his bag. 'I have an urgent meeting down in Hogsmeade this afternoon.'

'But we aren't allowed down there,' gasped Peter. 'Don't you remember? You'll get yourself into trouble!'

'Rubbish,' snorted Sirius. 'It's not as if I am going to simply walk through the entrance doors and back. No one will notice.'

Remus frowned slightly. 'But you can't -'

'- go without us!' interrupted James, jumping to his feet, grinning. 'Or me, at least. What did you think, planning to deprive me of a bit of fun?'

'No,' said Sirius distractedly, trying to fix a torn strap on his bag. 'I am going alone.'

James stopped, staring at him in mild astonishment. Peter frowned slightly, and even Remus looked up from another book he had begun to read.

'What?'

Sirius looked up. 'I am going alone,' he said firmly, putting his bag over his shoulder. 'This meeting is just meant for two.'

And with this he vanished through the portrait hole, leaving his three friends dumbstruck and slightly annoyed.

'What a git,' growled James, letting himself fall into his armchair again. 'I wonder what he is up to now.'

'He hasn't behaved like that for months,' said Remus thoughtfully. 'You reckon there's something wrong with him?'

'I think he's having a date,' stated Peter, causing two exceedingly curious looks to focus upon him.

'DO tell,' said James.

'I don't believe you,' said Remus.

'He has been acting weird for several weeks now,' said Peter thoughtfully. 'Hasn't been eating a lot, sleeping badly...'

'How do you know?' interrupted James.

'He's been talking to me,' said Peter knowledgeably. 'And I have been watching him a lot. Believe me, there's more behind his behaviour than just a bad mood or a fad. I think he's meeting a girl.'

James jumped to his feet. 'I've got to see whether that is true.'

'Don't be an idiot,' said Remus, his face full of thoughtful surprise. 'He won't want you to follow him. Especially not if Peter is right. What did he say, Peter?'

'He said he was having problems getting his thoughts straight,' replied the round-faced boy, playing with the red cover of his armchair. 'Said there was someone who was giving him trouble, though he wouldn't state who it was. I know it's a girl, though. He referred to her as 'she'. Seems very close to her as well. To... know her very well.'

Remus shifted uncomfortably, but James's face twisted into a mischievous grin.

'Unbelievable,' he said. 'What's he to do with girls? He doesn't ever even speak to any of them.'

'Good thing, too,' said Remus. 'Or they'd run away screaming.'

James collapsed in his chair with a fit of laughter. 'True,' he panted. 'But maybe this is the big exception. The big... you know - _the one_.'

He made a mysterious face and, as if driven by an invisible impulse, all three boys stuck their heads together in mock secrecy, producing what sounded like one, awestruck 'Whoohoo'.

Eventually, Remus returned to his books, Peter took up his observation of the potted plants on top of the fireplace again, and James put his legs on the table in front of him, trying not to look bored or to think about why Sirius had left without even telling him, his best friend to date, where he was going and whom he was meeting.

'Not much of an eventful afternoon, is it?' he said grumpily. 'Apart from Professor Vector's escapades and Snape's little games...'

'What was it he wanted anyway?' nodded Remus, without looking up from his book. 'Why did he lose it like that?'

'What do I care?' muttered James. 'It was the perfect excuse to get back on the little git in any case. I've been longing to try that spell on someone for ages.'

'What does it do?' enquired Peter curiously. James frowned.

'You have seen him double up, haven't you?'

'Yes,' said Peter, 'but what does it actually do? Blow up your insides or anything? Doesn't it have a specific effect?'

'Not that I know of,' replied James lazily. 'But it looks excellent.'

He looked down at Remus, watching a small frown appear at the light-haired boy's forehead.

'What?!' he said irritably. 'You always look as if you had something in mind which you prefer to keep for yourself. Haven't you been enjoying yourself?'

Remus gave him a shy look, suddenly seeming a bit awkward rather than reproving. 'Yes, yes,' he said. 'It's just... I don't like seeing people cry. Not even Slytherins.'

'Well, of course you don't,' said James conciliatorily. 'And neither do I, but we couldn't have foreseen how far it would go. And he is a bit of a whiner, isn't he?'

Remus smiled shyly. 'Well, yes. He can be a bit daft.'

James grinned. 'And we stopped, didn't we?'

'Only because Professor Vector came along,' threw Peter in.

James frowned. 'She's just the kind of teacher I don't like. Can't keep her nose out of anything, it seems.'

'Yes, she's a bit annoying,' admitted Remus. 'Naturally, being Head of Slytherin, I suppose.'

'Arithmency is definitely the last subject I am going to take,' said James firmly. 'But none of them is really pleasant. It is as if the founders had been thinking of a house where to put all the deranged, potentially dangerous fools in. Each of them not unintelligent as such, but definitely unpleasant and equipped with a kind of cruel wit no decent person would ever even think of.'

There was a short break.

'Oh, and Snape, of course,' he added as an afterthought.

Remus grinned. Peter laughed loudly.

'I wonder what he's doing in there, actually,' said James. 'You reckon Hufflepuff was too crowded?'

'He's not loyal enough,' said Remus quietly. 'And I don't suppose he's much of a hard worker.'

'He isn't very faithful either,' said Peter precociously. 'I think the Sorting Hat just didn't want to say: "Ah, sorry mate. You must have got your letter by accident. Go home."'

'That would have been awesome,' said James grinningly. 'I am told, actually, that something like that _has_ happened, some two or three decades ago. But I'm not sure whether that is true. Deady can be so wonderfully inventive at times.'

'Deady?' said Remus. 'Deadalus Diggle?'

'A rule-breaker of the finest sort,' said James reminiscently. 'He is one of the most intelligent people I have met.'

'And that's saying something, coming from you,' replied Remus. 'So...' he hesitated for a second, 'what are we going to do about our little accident this morning? You think it'll have any consequences?'

'If the whiner doesn't blab it won't,' said James savagely. 'And I don't think he will. He never does. And in any case, how's he going to prove I used that spell? He could have just as easily eaten too much.'

Remus nodded pensively. 'Come to think of it,' he muttered, 'it did look more like a stomach upset than anything. You sure you even hit him?'

James raised one eyebrow, trying to look insulted.

'Sorry,' muttered Remus. 'I forgot. Quidditch geniuses don't miss.'

'That's right,' growled James. 'Still, I'm not all too sure I am entirely to blame for all that snivelling.'

'Snivellus Snape,' muttered Remus. 'The pride of Slytherin house.'

There was a short silence in which James seemed to take in these words. Peter giggled pleasantly, while Remus resolved to grin lopsidedly.

The following laughter was audible through all of Gryffindor house and James decided that, among all his friends at Hogwarts, Remus was definitely the most inventive one.


	7. Albus Dumbledore

**

Albus Dumbledore

**

After Cornelius Fudge had left his office Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had problems keeping his mind on the less exciting, but nonetheless equally important matters of the daily school life again. Too many things demanded his attention at the moment. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was hunting another Nundu somewhere at the Ivory Coast, needing powerful wizards to assist, as no less than one hundred of them were needed to overcome such a creature. The Department of Mysteries had made yet another breath-taking discovery, and to make things perfect, Fudge seemed perfectly incapable of filling the position he, Albus, had refused to take, in favour of the Headmaster's position at Hogwarts just over a year ago. Indeed, this was the third time in a week that Cornelius had come to get advice on everyday matters and admittedly, it was getting tiring to have to explain certain things over and over again. Albus considered himself tired.

A glance at his grandfather's little watch told him that it was time to lay aside today's work anyway. It was past midnight again and he had not taken his usual stroll about the castle and its grounds yet.

'I am getting too old for this,' he told himself, 'maybe I should delegate those nightly security strolls to a member of the staff. A younger member, preferably.'

When he opened his door, however, and made his way through Hogwarts's deserted night time corridors, the reason why he had refused to move to the Ministry building and busy himself with tediously significant matters, and why he had decided to stay at Hogwarts that had become his home over the past seventy-something years, came back to him.

Everything was quiet. Albus sighed and with every breath took in the bliss that this castle caused inside him whenever he allowed himself to let his mind wander. This part of the castle was usually the most quiet, even during the day. Albus passed the hospital wing, not without glancing inside to see if he recognized one or the other face. With a sudden jolt of regret he realized that being headmaster meant, of course, losing quite a lot of the intimacy he had always shared with his students. They would soon stop coming to him for advice. He would soon lose his ability to guess their inner thoughts (without using his own... unusual ways). Soon, he would have to think before addressing a student, because, of course, he would be in danger of confusing them with one another.

A silent, almost imperceptible sob caught Albus's ear. He frowned, listened closely, and perceived another sob, just as quietly as the first. The empty room produced a faint echo of the child's weeping - a boy's, as Albus found out when he closed the door behind him and quietly drew nearer. A first- or second-year, by the sound of it. When the moonlight, penetrating the room through several of the big windows, met his face, making him visible for the tiny patient, the sobbing stopped abruptly. Severus Snape stared into Albus's face with unmistakable fear and distrust.

'I thought the enchantment we placed on our hospital beds would alert Madame Pomfrey if something was wrong,' Albus said in what he hoped to be a comforting voice.

'I told her to leave me alone,' the boy replied defiantly, 'so she left.'

'It is not usually that easy to get rid of her,' the headmaster replied with an impressed smile. 'Indeed, I cannot think of any single patient who ever succeeded at it. What did you say?'

He noticed Severus's pallid face flush slightly before answering, 'I told her to sod off and keep that muck she was trying to slip me.'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'You did indeed?' He made a meaningful pause, surveying the boy over the brim of his half-moon spectacles. 'That was extremely rude.'

The boy's eyes narrowed. 'I know. So what? She made me take some second-rate concoction I wouldn't have given my worst enemy.'

'Perhaps,' Albus replied thoughtfully, 'a well-trained nurse, having a degree in healing potions and many years experience with diseases and injuries, knows a little bit more about these things than a bold young man such as yourself?' He watched Severus's expression and saw with some amusement that it was changing.

'Well,' said the boy vaguely, 'mo-mother told me to never drink anything containing aniseed, 'cause of my bad skin, see? So... so I don't.'

'I see,' Albus replied. 'And have you told Madame Pomfrey so?'

Severus shook his head. 'It is none of her business,' he said coolly and Albus could not help but smile again. The boy's face, on the other hand, was suddenly contorted with pain once more, though he did not utter a sound. Albus sat down on the edge of Severus's bed, whose eyes widened in alarm. He withdrew into the furthest corner and stared at the elderly headmaster with huge, glittering eyes, opening his mouth in what seemed pure horror.

Albus frowned. Surely the boy was not afraid of him? He raised his hand to calm him, but Severus jumped and whimpered, realizing that he wouldn't be able to escape through the solid castle wall. Albus withdrew his hand, feeling puzzled and very worried. How could such a small child possibly be terrified at the simple thought of being touched? He decided to make sure rather than making a mistake and broke carefully, as to not let him know, into the boy's mind.

Cautious Legilimency was a great deal more difficult than open mind-penetration. You hardly ever got a clear idea of what you saw, let alone an explanation. Floating images, and a bunch of emotions were the usual contents of a mind's surface. And that was all you could do - scrape on the surface. Because if you went any deeper, the person would notice the infiltration and wonder what was happening. Ask, even, and, in some cases, close their mind straight away, consciously or not.

Albus saw fear. Strictly speaking, he saw barely anything else. Severus Snape was the most frightened boy he had ever met. And for good reason, too. Albus took a closer look. Almost tempted to mutter the incantation that would bring him under the surface of Severus's thoughts, but he knew he would now.

'You have got a tummy-ache,' he remarked, well aware that his expression must be full of worry and sympathy, 'and a bad one at that. Perhaps you should take Madame Pomfrey's medicine after all?'

'I have,' Severus whispered. Albus saw the boy take out his wand, making the potion disappear as soon as the nurse had turned her back to him, and smiled.

'You are lying. Who taught you how to do the Vanishing Spell? They are not due until fourth grade.'

Severus gave him a blank stare. 'How -'

'Never mind. You can lie to me. I suppose every second-year would lie to their headmaster. It lies in the nature of things. But I would like to rid you of your pain.'

'I haven't-' Just at this moment, Severus drew in a sudden sharp breath and let out a suppressed whinge. Albus surveyed him through his half-moon spectacles and produced what he hoped was an understanding smile.

'Obviously you have. Hold still now, I am not going to hurt you.'

He outstretched his hand again, causing Severus to cramp and withdraw even further into his corner. His face was white with fear. Albus thought for a moment and, recalling that he was not going to do any harm after all, placed his hand squarely - though with great caution - at the boy's stomach, concentrating hard on an ancient piece of magic that was used to reverse all sorts of ill-meant curses. He moved his hand clockwise to enforce the spell's effect and Severus started to whimper in cold dread, obviously expecting something terrible to happen any second.

'Quiet!' Albus demanded gently. 'I told you this is not going to hurt. It is to make sure you catch a bit of sleep tonight. To make your pain vanish, really.'

Several minutes passed in silence. Albus repeated the curative movement over and over again and, sure enough, Severus started to respond. He became calmer, his face straightened, his breath went quiet and he closed his eyes. - He was sleeping at last.

Albus felt a strong fondness inside him. Fondness and sympathy for the small boy, who was now curling into the sheets of his hospital bed. What was it he was so mortally afraid of? Albus longed to have a closer look. Penetrating a sleeping person's mind was something he could have done in a heartbeat, but he knew that, having so much fear inside him, this would cause the boy to experience the worst nightmares. He therefore merely straightened the blanket over Severus' chest and left the hospital wing on tiptoes.


	8. Purebloods

**

Purebloods

**

The Porlock's Inn was almost empty except for two tables behind a large wardrobe at the backside of the pub, cut off conveniently from curious glances by the two single people who were spending their Saturday evening brooding over a pint at the small bar table in the front, not wanting or, Sirius thought, not bothering to go home after a long day's work.

As soon as he had rounded the wardrobe he spotted one or two familiar faces. All in all, however, the circle of friends Bellatrix had built up after leaving school was rather odd and very mixed. A few students, some people of her own age, two or three grown-ups - and one of the shop owners from Hogsmeade, Sirius realised with some surprise.

They were all sitting round the two large oak tables, obviously not up to much chit-chat, although some of the students were whispering to each other, apparently as unsure of the nature of this meeting as he was.

In fact, Sirius was rather surprised to see so many people down here. He had expected students mostly, and not so many shady figures of a kind, which he would have preferred not to meet in a deserted street at night. He also realised that among the students few were of the sort Professor McGonagall would have called successful - and not a single one was not in Slytherin. Except for him.

'Sirius,' said a voice from below and he spotted his cousin Rudolphus Lestrange sitting very close to where he was standing, a pint of decidedly _not_ butterbeer in one and what seemed like a small, black quill in the other hand. 'Good to see you could make it.'

'What is this meeting all about?' said Sirius flatly. 'I am out of bounds, so you better have a reason for calling me out here without explaining anything, simply expecting me to do your bidding just because I'm part of the family. Is this one of Bellatrix's useless ideas?'

'Bella is indeed one of those behind this meeting,' said Rudolphus smoothly, motioning Sirius to take the seat beside him. 'I wouldn't call it useless, though. 'You'll have a clearer idea why by the end of it.'

Sirius gave him a bored look, remaining where he was, and then gazed around the table. The only other person, apart from his cousin Bellatrix and her sister Andromeda, whose name he could actually recall was Lucius Malfoy (of course _he_ would be here), who was sitting next to a person whose face Sirius could not see because it was covered by the shade of a black hood.

'Typical,' he thought derisively, 'for him to make friends with the first person who might be up to no good.'

At this moment, Lucius looked up, spotted the newly arrived Gryffindor, and raised his eyebrows acknowledgingy, very unlike when they met in a Hogwarts corridor. Sirius gave him a dirty smile.

'Bastard,' he thought derisively.

Malfoy did not bother to change his expression even further, but stared at him for a long moment before nodding at something the hooded person had said and turned his head again. What was going on inside his head Sirius could only guess. And, in fact, he was not sure whether he wanted to know.

'He's one of the guards down in M'bwa,' said Rudolphus quietly, just loudly enough for Sirius to turn his attention to his dark-faced cousin again, rightly guessing what was going on in his head. 'The human ones, I mean. They are experimenting with all sorts of creatures down there as well these days. But he is one of the last that'll remain stationed there until the end of the year. Don't ask for his name, though. He is more of the secretive type. Doesn't talk a lot, except that he has been talking to Lucius for almost twenty minutes now. Maybe I should make enquiries after the meeting.' He grinned. Sirius did not move.

'It is good of you to come,' went Rudolphus on. 'Some of us have been wondering, you know, we have been wondering what Gryffindor would do to a proper-minded young man such as yourself. Cases like you don't occur very often.'

'Yes,' said Sirius, being sick of this kind of conversation.

'But Bella thought you might be interested. Just because your parents got a bit nasty about the house matter doesn't mean we don't still respect you, you know.'

'Well, what _is_ this meeting all about then?' replied Sirius as flatly as before.

'I have invited you,' said the voice of Bellatrix, suddenly appearing from behind, 'to discuss a serious matter, which I think cannot be ignored any longer.'

Sirius turned and stared at her. 'But what...'

Then he realised that she was talking not only to him, but to the whole group of assembled witches and wizards. She was wearing a black cloak, which, Sirius assumed, she had chosen specifically for this occasion, trying to make an impression on all her assembled friends.

'I am talking, of course, about the political situation and the blatant mistakes of Albus Dumbledore,' Bellatrix went on. 'I think we have let him go far enough with his crazy love for Muggles and Mudbloods.'

Sirius looked up in surprise.

'The situation as it is,' continued Bellatrix, being rather uncharacteristically straightforward, 'must, under any circumstances, be taken seriously, because it affects our all well-being. And the future of the wizarding world.'

'As political situations tend to,' remarked Sirius, earning himself a chastising look from one of the elder wizards. 'What's the big deal?'

'The big deal is,' said Bellatrix sharply, 'that, if we don't take the matters in our hands, no one will. The big deal is that Rudolphus and I - and some others - have realised that our parents are unable and, apparently, unwilling to put a stop to the large number of nuisances in today's society. They will, and maybe _can_ not change the course Fudge has taken with his politics, and they will certainly not leap into action against Dumbledore, which I think is a disastrous mistake.'

'Why would anyone want to take action against Dumbledore?' requested Sirius, suddenly realising what course the conversation was going to take.

'May I point out to you,' said Rudolphus, looking rather impatient, not realising that Sirius knew more than he allowed himself to display, 'that the Ministry intends to introduce a new Department for Inheritance Matters and Muggle Affairs? That there is going to be another sanction against House-Elf hunting and that during the last election four of twelve school governors could not trace their families back to the second or third generation? The situation is outrageous!'

'Not to mention the fact that we have to put up with half-bloods at Hogwarts these days,' remarked one of the younger wizards. 'Your generation,' he nodded towards the shop owner and what seemed to be his wife, 'didn't have this kind of problem, because no one would have _dreamed_ of admitting their kind. I, however, have had to surround myself with them for the past seven years and, quite honestly, I am sick of Mudbloods and half-breeds contaminating my surroundings!'

'But there's nothing you can do about that situation,' said Andromeda carefully. 'You can't keep people from marrying each other.'

'I do not intend to stop them marrying _each other_,' said the young wizard even more derisively. 'I want them to stop marrying into doubtful families, or even,' he shuddered, 'Muggle ones.'

Sirius gave the man a scrutinising look. His forehead seemed slightly higher than average and his hooked nose was about as prominent in size, clearly classifying him as a member or distant member of one of the very old families. Lestrange, presumably, or Snape, although Sirius had to admit he had never seen him - probably because his time at Hogwarts had ended before Sirius had even set foot into the castle. As with many wizards of the old families, the young speaker's hair was black and tied into a pony tail over his shiny black robes. His expression at the moment was agitated - almost livid -, making Sirius think that this was not a person to meddle with. Very much like his uncle Lance, now he came to think of it. Perhaps he was a Snape after all.

'We want to know of each of you,' said Bellatrix now, 'whether you are as sick as we are of he everlasting discussions. Of people complaining about the situation without actually doing anything. We want to know if you are prepared to stand up and end the century of endless debates, proceeding into a new world which we will set up all by ourselves. A world free of Mudbloods and traitors to the bloodline.'

Sirius got the feeling that her gaze purposefully fell on him, but no one else seemed to notice, as most people were busy slamming their fists on the table, muttering or exclaiming loudly in agreement. He looked around, fighting a basic instinct just for a second, then burst into roaring laughter.

The group went very quiet. Sirius suddenly felt over a dozen pairs of eyes on him and stopped laughing, dealing out some challenging looks.

'What?!'

'Yes,' said Rudolphus slowly, dangerously. 'What is it, young Black? What are you laughing about?'

Sirius gave him a haughty grin.

'I'm sorry, but this is simply hilarious. I mean - you are all grown-up people. Well...' he glanced at two of the other students. 'Most of you. Bellatrix. What is this nonsense? A bunch of restless would-be-teenagers founding a secret society?'

'How DARE y-...'

Rudolphus was on his feet before Sirius could react.

'Rudolphus!!'

The younger of the Lestranges had jumped up as well, uselessly, of course, as he was several years younger than his brother. On the other side of the table Bellatrix had risen, striding over now, and positioning herself between her three cousins, her face contorted with fury when she turned to Sirius.

'How dare you?' she hissed. 'How dare you not take this seriously? How dare you talk like that?'

Sirius leaned back lazily, grinning at his cousin in what he knew to be an annoyingly superior manner. 'Who _would_ take this seriously, Bellatrix? Who will ever take _you_ seriously?' He looked around, grinning at those present with just a dash contempt.

'I should have known,' hissed Bellatrix, her face now very close to Sirius's. 'There was more to the Hat's decision than just a false interpretation of your tendencies. You really ARE one of them, am I right?'

Sirius felt hot anger rise inside him, but was determined not to show it to people who would be using it against him at first chance.

'How would _you_ know who or what I am?' he snapped, in want of a better reply, glaring around in search of someone - anyone who might be with him.

There was no one. Even his cousin Andromeda, whom he believed to be not quite as deluded as the rest of those assembled, did not speak up. She was staring at one corner of the oak table, biting her lip, apparently thinking.

'You are idiots,' he said dryly after a while, turning back to Bellatrix and Rudolphus. 'If you want to make fools of yourselves, do so. But I am going back to the castle.'

And he got up.

'Oh no!' snarled Rudolphus. Sirius felt his collar being snatched, thinking that this was something he had not experienced in a while, considering how much he had grown in recent years. 'That's what _you_ think, you little -...'

'Rudolphus!'

Bellatrix's voice was sharp and unmistakably .

'Leave him!'

Sirius felt himself being released and pushed to a side. For a few moments, his two cousins were whispering with one another, then Bellatrix straightened up. Her face had assumed an icy expression. Rudolphus had crossed his arms.

'Go, if you like,' she said. 'But you will convey the purpose of this meeting to no one, understood? You owe your family as much.'

'Yeah, right,' snapped Sirius, realising with surprise that he was getting slightly uneasy about her tone. Something in it suggested him to co-operate, or he would rest in pieces. So to speak.

When he left the Inn several minutes later, an odd feeling of relief overcame Sirius, which he tried to ignore at first, but finally experienced as the first time he had ever wilfully gone against what the family expected of him.

And against his will, a broad grin appeared on his face. He could see it in the shop windows, which he passed on his way back to the castle. A wide, appealing grin, he found. A Black's grin, but not in the sense of tradition. Just... in the sense of being member of a family. By nature.

He positioned himself in front of one of the windows (which happened to belong to Zonko's joke shop) and peered into the dark, deserted room inside. Was he mistaken, or had the old shop owner forgotten to close the door to his cellar? And what was the jumper all about, lying in the middle of the stone floor, apparently forgotten by a Hogwarts student? He puzzled about the matter for a moment, then decided that it did not actually interest him and turned.

In front of him, arms crossed, looking exceedingly angry, stood Professor McGonagall.

Sirius's first reaction was to freeze and retreat against the shop window, but he gathered himself quickly, knowing that almost every unpleasant situation could be overcome by either wit, or cleverness, or both.

'Professor,' he said eventually, looking straight into the flashing eyes of his devastated Head of House. 'F-fancy meeting you here...'

'_May_ I ask,' snarled Professor McGonagall, giving the impression of suppressing a massive explosion - just for the moment, 'what you are doing doon here, Mr. Black? All by yerself? At this time of the night?'

'I was... sleep walking,' said Sirius vaguely, thinking what an idiot he had been not to return to the castle straight away.

'Don't lie to me!' snapped McGonagall. 'I shall have a word with your parents about this, mark my word! Better yet, suspend you straight away so they can deal with you in person. How DARE you... after what happened last year...'

'Well, you might have told us about Remus's condition,' remarked Sirius dryly, ignoring that every of her words meant nothing but trouble, should she carry out any of those threats.

At the same moment he felt his ear being snatched ruthlessly and stumbled when Professor McGonagall pulled him towards her, radiating a danger he had rarely perceived from her side. She was very clearly on the verge of losing it.

'How dare you? I daresay Professor Dumbledore knew very well what he was doing when he _didnae_ tell a bunch of nosy, self-indulgent first-year students that they had a werewolf among them!'

Sirius's gaze flicked worriedly in the direction of the Porlock's Inn. Professor McGonagall frowned.

'I trust,' she said sternly, almost sounding ironical now, looking around in all directions as if looking for something, 'there are no more rule-breakers out here apart from you? Potter, perhaps? Or Mr. Pettigrew?'

'No one,' said Sirius truthfully.

'Well then,' said Professor McGonagall. 'Leaves only you to deal with. I swear, you are getting as bad as Fletcher and Diggle used to be. Will you need a visit of the thrashing vault before you stop breaking the school rules?'

'No, Professor,' Sirius hurried to assure her. 'Professor, you're... that is very... inconvenient what you are doing. Could you let go?'

With a grumpy expression McGonagall released his ear. Sirius pulled a grimmace and rubbed it gently.

'Well,' said Professor McGonagall, 'the entrance doors close at eight in the evening. How did you get here?'

Sirius's head was suddenly full with more or less believable explanations. He needed time. Time to think!

'Flew,' he said, well aware of the phonological ambiguity of the word.

Professor McGonagall stared at him without speaking at first. Then, raising her hand slowly, moving dangerously close to his throbbing ear, she took a deep breath, her eyebrows forming one, severe line, and looked straight into his eyes.

'You got here by broom?' She made a significant pause, giving Sirius time to realise that he could not possibly say 'yes'.

'Flew as in... floo powder,' he thus said, wondering how he was going to wind himself out of this one.

'You broke into a teacher's office then?' said Professor McGonagall quietly, sounding more threatening than ever. Sirius shook his head quickly.

'No, I... it's...'

'Don't you think it is much more likely that you have been using one of the many tunnels into the village?' said McGonagall, suddenly sounding very tired. Sirius gave her a blank stare.

'You... know about them?'

'How many years do you suppose I have been teaching at Hogwarts, Mr. Black?'

She still sounded rather tired and impatient, so Sirius suppressed his first thought and went for a polite guess. 'Ten years?'

'Fifteen,' said Professor McGonagall sternly. 'And don't you think in all those years I have had enough time to find out all about Hogwarts that one needs to know?'

Sirius lowered his head.

'So you came here by tunnel,' the Deputy Headmistress remarked. 'Can you name one convincing reason why I should not send you home straight away?'

Sirius hesitated. He should have seen this question coming, but there was no safe way of answering it. Then again, he _did_ have a reason not to be looking forward to a suspension.

'Professor,' he said after a long while of consideration, 'my parents will throw me out if I present them a suspension parchment.'

There was a short silence. McGonagall's wrath seemed to evaporate while she was actually considering what kinds of consequences a suspension might have on his part.

'I realise that your situation is difficult,' she said quietly after some hesitation. 'But you cannot keep coming down here. There are reasons for these rules, you know. They are set up for your own safety. A safety which you seem to endanger on a permanent basis. Haven't you got a sense of responsibility?'

Sirius did not dare look her in the eyes. He was aware that the purpose of her speech was to make him think about things, so that eventually he would change his behaviour, but all he could think of at the moment was... 'Careful now. Play intelligently and you'll get off easily.'

'Follow me,' said McGonagall sternly after a while, turning abruptly in the direction of the castle. 'A detention will do this time. But I shall not be so lenient if I catch you out of bounds one more time, is that understood? I know you have a difficult position, but you'll _have_ to learn and live with it, which means you ought to start taking responsibility...'

And she lectured him all the way up to the castle until they had reached Gryffindor tower and the portrait of the Fat Lady. Here, to Sirius's great surprise she bid him an weary goodnight, actually placing her hand on his shoulder as if making up for her long, exhausting speech, before he could finally go inside, swearing to himself that he would not answer a single question James or the others might ask.


	9. A Visit

**

A Visit

**

When the Slytherins and Gryffindors filed into the classroom, Minerva McGonagall felt her face assume its usual stern expression. She realised with some pride that nothing in this world could keep her from teaching a regular Transfiguration lesson, once she had decided to do so.

'Today,' she began without much unnecessary chit-chat, 'we will be turning beetles into buttons. Like so.' She demonstrated the procedure she intended to teach them, and only a couple of minutes later the students were busy trying to persuade a mere tailor's device to grow legs and wings and start crawling around. Today, Minerva had resolved, she would take a closer look at the less gifted students, as it was time to hand out grade sheets and she had not decided what to give everyone yet.

'Not like that, Mr. Pettigrew,' she snapped as a small, fat boy made a grotesque wand movement towards the button. 'You need to preserve your subtlety. Do as I do.' She gave a short demonstration of what she expected and left the boy to practise by himself again. She had now spotted a girl in the back of the class, who seemed to be in desperate need of help. Minerva hurried to assist her, when a sudden explosion at the front made her and most of the students jump and whirl around. Thick smoke was arising from one of the tables and she could smell burnt flesh. A bark of laughter emerged from somewhere near the source of the accident and Minerva felt her face flush.

'Mr. Black,' she bellowed, 'this is neither funny nor clever. I thought better of-'

'Oh, but it wasn't me, Professor,' Sirius Black's dark voice came through the smoke. Seconds later he was standing in front of her, holding a perfectly shaped little beetle in his hand. 'It was Snape. Seems he was a bit... over-enthusiastic.'

'_You_ shot my beetle,' said a squeaky voice from behind the smoke and Minerva waved her wand. The sight was clear at an instant. Only a soft vapour was left, hanging over the tables and under the ceiling like an indistinct veil of fog or rain. A pair of furious black eyes were flashing at Sirius Black and James Potter, who seemed to have great difficulties keeping their faces straight. Admittedly, of course, the sight of Severus Snape standing next to what was more or less a crater, holding his burnt wand in his black, smoking hands, had some comic potential. Minerva, however, refused to laugh.

'What happened?' she said sharply, not looking at Potter and Black for a change, but at Snape, who seemed to be the only one capable of speaking at the moment.

'I told you,' he said hesitantly, now back to his usual whisper, 'H-he shot my beetle. And they jinxed my wand. One of them, anyway. It b-burnt right through my thumb.' He was on the verge of tears. Naturally, Minerva thought, considering the state of his hand, which she had now taken a second look at. The boy would have to go to the hospital wing and have his flesh re-grown. She was slightly surprised that he was not howling with pain. Determined mind, she decided, despite appearances.

'And how would we have done that?' James Potter now sharply retorted Snape's accusation. 'Jinxing wands is classified as Dark Magic and practically impossible. I couldn't jinx a wand if my life depended on it. You?'

He looked at Black who shrugged. 'Test me.'

'The idiot blew up his desk because he got angry that his button wouldn't move,' remarked James and grinned. 'That's what you get for not doing your essays, Snivellus!'

'_Snivellus_?!?' Another bark of laughter filled the room and Sirius Black slammed himself onto a desk, clearly unable to control himself any longer. '_Snivellus_! However did you come up with _that_?'

'Get a grip onto yourself, Black,' Minerva said with a severe look. 'You know I don't allow fighting in my class, Potter. Soothe yourselves - both of you.'

'Sorry, Professor,' they said quickly. But the damage was done. Young Snape had almost completely crawled behind the window curtains, trying to hide the tears that were inevitably pouring down his face. Minerva took a deep breath.

'Hospital wing, Snape,' she finally said in a would-be-comforting voice. 'Mr. Nott, would you be so kind as to keep him company?'

It took some persuasion to make Snape leave his shelter behind the curtains, but since Minerva had taken charge of the situation now, no one dared throwing a derisive remark at him as he and Timothy Nott left the classroom

'Let me have a look what you have accomplished so far,' she finally demanded, eager to bring the students' concentration back to their beetles. 'Potter, you will need some wings there. Black, I shall take a closer look at yours, if you please.'

It was late when the Deputy Headmistress finally left the Transfiguration classroom to return to the number of small room she called her private quarters. The day of a teacher was long and strenuous, she found. It began with classes and ended with the correction of essays. But it was the life she had chosen, and it was good the way it was.

She found that the corridors at this time of the day were wonderfully deserted, naturally, as the children were just about to extinguish the lights in their dormitory now. At least that was the rule. Whether most of them followed it was every night her most puzzling question. Especially when she was on night watch duty. Not this week, thankfully, but often enough.

Minerva sighed and unlocked the portrait hole to her dormitory by transfiguring the man on top of one of the horses it into a mouse. A nice touch, she had thought at the time when she had been thinking about a way of locking her belongings away. Some men deserved to be transfigured into animals.

Before she got the chance of entering, however, locking out all the stress and the inconvenience of the everyday school life for another eight or so hours, she heard footsteps approaching from somewhere in the corridor and she stopped, waiting to see who might be wanting to see her at this time of the night.

The footsteps stopped and Minerva realised that she was looking in the wrong direction.

'Minerva McGillivray.'

The voice behind her was deep and gentle, and she recognised it at an instant.

'Mr. Lupin,' she said, turning, looking into the eyes of an elderly man with messy hair and overlarge glasses, behind which a pair of blue eyes was twinkling at her in a very Albus-like manner. 'Are ye sure this time of the day is wisely chosen for a visit? There are bairns on the loose, you know.'

He smiled. 'Indeed.'

'Indeed,' she said and they were gazing at each other for a long time before she finally gave in, pulling him in a short, hearty embrace and admitted him into the small living-room that was part of her private quarters.

'I would never have thought Hogwarts this big,' said Lupin, taking a good look around her quarters as well, his eyes still in a playful twinkle. 'And this beautiful.'

'It is a great castle,' Minerva agreed with a sigh. 'Ye havnae bin here before?'

'Dumbledore has invited me several times over the years, but somehow the thought of hundreds of children with wands and abilities such as my son's and my wife's makes me exceedingly nervous.'

He grinned. Minerva smiled again.

'So, what made ye change yer mind?'

She watched his expression grow more serious and decided that it was, perhaps, time for an eavesdropping spell. With a flick of her wand the door was sealed.

'You know, of course,' said Mr. Lupin quietly when she had settled down again, 'that we are still working tirelessly on the case of the... animal that has... caused my son's monthly... transformation.'

Minerva nodded. The subject was still an uncomfortable one for him. She could sense it in every word he uttered.

'Albus mentions it occasionally,' she said quietly. 'But... he more or less skipped the details, a believe.'

Mr. Lupin nodded gravely. 'Maybe it is better this way.'

'So... why heiv ye come noo?' said Minerva, 'feeling that this was a difficult subject to approach with him.

'I've decided to come because I heard about the appointment of your new Potions teacher,' said Mr. Lupin slowly, watching her expression with the utmost interest. 'I hear it is one of the lads from the border taking a year off?'

'Rodney?' said Minerva in surprise. 'Why - d'ye suspect...' She had to take in the accusation that lay behind his words and took a few breaths before shaking her head with the utmost caution, so as to not offend him. 'A dinnae ken a' the details of his life, naturally,' she said, 'but a can assure you that Albus and a heiv bin looking closely at his records...'

'He stands directly under the command of Lance Snape,' said Mr. Lupin quietly. 'And although neither of this... soldier folk have any appreciation for the subject of Potions - not that I could judge, of course - he agrees to take the only available vacant position at Hogwarts... as though he'd do anything just to be here at this specific time.'

'A refuse tae believe that Rodney Robertson is planning an assassination on the grounds of his superior having a... _dislike_ for his chosen subject,' Minerva snapped. 'Seriously, d'ye heiv _any_ proof backing up this theory other than your dislike for the Robertson family?'

'I do not dislike the Robertson family,' said Mr. Lupin quietly. 'But I have a pair of eyes. And I have put a great deal of effort into researching this, given that it was _a border's soldier_ who was responsible for the... accident involving my son.'

'But it could heiv bin _everyone_!' raged Minerva, feeling her face flush with hot anger, as always when someone was basing accusations on an old, brooding hatred. 'A think you are being irrational, Mr. Lupin. Yer oe might nae be tae yer subtle taste, but a daresay ye cannae make a criminal oot of him because of yer personal feud with yer guid-brither.'

She was really angry now, feeling that if she got any angrier he would be unable to understand her any longer, so, with an air of reasonable she took a deep breath, going back to just glaring at him.

Mr. Lupin was still smiling.

'As I say,' he said quietly, sounding as good-humoured as ever, 'I have reason to believe that he has contact with doubtful subjects. Werewolf breeders aren't to my taste either, I admit, but...'

'Ye cannae even _do_ that!' stormed Minerva. 'How on earth wid ye want tae "breed" a creature that is human, most of the time?'

Mr. Lupin's look clouded, just for a moment, and Minerva regretted her words at an instant.

'A'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'Dinnae listen tae me raging nonsense. Yer son is a guid lad, granted. But the problem remains that yer accusations are unfounded.'

'I am not accusing anyone,' said Mr. Lupin after a short while. 'I am conveying facts to you, Mrs. McGillivray.'

'McGonagall,' said Minerva automatically, without looking up from the table. Her friend raised an eyebrow.

'You are married?'

'Divorced,' snapped Minerva indignantly, thinking that her legal status was the last thing she wanted to discuss with a Muggle lawyer. 'Well, what do you expect me to do? Question him?'

Mr. Lupin, who had obviously intended to drop a further remark, changed his mind and gave her a thoughtful look instead, looking fairly reasonable again.

'Most importantly,' he said, 'have an eye on him. Watch his steps. See to that none of your students come to harm whilst he is here.'

Minerva tried to consider this. 'That would be a breech of protocol,' she said sternly. 'He is a member of our staff. A shall stay alert, but I willnae heiv him watched over some random accusations of his father's archenemy.'

Mr. Lupin seemed to consider this. 'Very well,' he said eventually. 'You must do as you see fit. And I trust you, of course, but consider yourself warned. There are things going on outside Hogwarts, Minerva. Dangerous plottings. And while this school is one of the few places I still consider to be safe, I cannot grant how long this will be the case if Dumbledore and you are not more careful in choosing your staff members in future.'

Minerva remained silent for a while, then sighed and leaned forward slightly, surveying him closely through her small spectacles. 'You seem very well informed.'

'That is what I am being paid for,' said Mr. Lupin coolly. 'To keep my eyes and ears open around my world and yours. And I must say, considering the lack of safety standards you wizarding folk are apparently used to, I can understand why you would need such things as Muggle mediators and spies all over the place.' He leaned forward as well, now looking more serious than ever. 'You just have no. Idea. What is happening,' he said quietly. 'Your world - _our_ world, possibly, is heading towards a war. Another one. Worse, maybe, than the last. I do not know. But I recognise the circumstances that precede a war. And I have known and observed the wizarding world for long enough to tell when things are getting heated. Right now, in the Ministry of Magic, an astounding number of people will be voting _against_ Muggleborn school governors. They have been doing votings for over a month now, trying to get an overall idea of how people think about the ongoing discussions. And hardly any of the votings went very well from our perspective, I can assure you.'

Minerva stared at him, marvelling about the amount of information he had collected, wondering whether it was actually healthy for a Muggle to know this much about the wizarding world. He was a Muggle, after all...

'Well,' she said weakly after a while, 'Whatever we might be... "heading" at... a trust Albus tae find a way oot. If he disnae, no one else will.'

Mr. Lupin hurried to assure her that she was not.

'It was Albus who teached me to hold a person innocent till their guilt is proven,' said Minerva firmly. 'Tae meet them with respect... _and_ tae gie second chances.'

She looked directly into his eyes, feeling that she might as well lecture him, even though he had never been one of her students.

Mr. Lupin seemed pensive.

'Do as you please,' he said eventually. 'Maybe this is a matter that escapes my limited Muggle view...'

'Dinnae be ridiculous,' snapped Minerva. 'A value yer advice. But a must take steps as a see fit. And ma conscience tells me tae go easy on Rodney Robertson.'

Mr. Lupin nodded and raised.

'I understand. Only please... be careful with whom you surround yourself these days, will you? In general, I mean?'

Minerva got up as well, nodding. She hesitated for a while, fighting against an inner urge that had been nagging her for some time, and eventually gave in.

'Ye dinnae... happen tae heiv any news from the border? How...' she hesitated some more, 'how are they getting on?'

Mr. Lupin gave her a look that could have meant everything and nothing, then smirked.

Did the man know everything?

'I haven't heard much from them lately,' he said pensively. 'It seems to me that a certain Assistant Commissioner has his men well under control in times like this.'

Minerva frowned. 'Who?'

'Assistant Commissioner Lance Snape, of course,' said Lupin, not indicating what he did or did not know. 'He has been promoted in preparation for his transfer to Africa. Didn't you know? He has been appointed Lieutenant in one of the largest training camps down there. He is a rags-to-riches person, all right. At least as far as the army is concerned.'

'Wait a moment,' said Minerva, looking irritated. 'Are ye saying they appointed him Lieutenant down in M'bwa? On a permanent basis?'

Lupin nodded.

'But he has family up in London,' said Minerva sternly. 'A wife - sick, if I am not mistaken - and a son.'

'Well, but his son would be at Hogwarts most of the time, isn't he?' stated Mr. Lupin. 'And anyway, he is not going before the end of the year. Apart from the fact that you wizarding folk seem to have means of travelling rather fast from one point to the other?'

'Naturally, naturally,' sighed Minerva. 'It willnae be _that_ much of a problem, but still... I dinnae think he should go.'

'I'll tell him when we meet again,' offered Mr. Lupin, ruggedly pulling Minerva from her daydreams.

'No!' There was a short break. Minerva found herself giving her opposite an embarrassed grin. 'That... willnae be necessary. Knowing him, he will only... draw the wrong conclusions.'

Mr. Lupin gave her a surprised smile and nodded.

'As you wish.'

He held out his hand.

'It has been my pleasure talking to you, Professor McGonagall,' he said smilingly. 'I have a feel that we shall meet again soon.'

Minerva nodded took his hand and nodded. Merely. Her thoughts were somewhere else, very far away, and remained there, long after Lupin had left the castle again.


	10. Quidditch and Detentions

**

Quidditch and Detentions

**

Some twelve hours later, in the afternoon of the following day, the long-awaited, much anticipated first Quidditch match of the season was finally taking place. Gryffindor was playing Ravenclaw, and, for the first time in years, Gryffindor had a Seeker that matched the speedy though powerfully built fifth-year who filled the position for Ravenclaw, a boy named Vitali Nemec. Minerva had specially chosen James Potter for the team, because he was skinny and obviously talented. She had, of course, seen him fly and was confident that, despite his youth, he would make an impressive Quidditch player. Today was the perfect day for him to show his abilities. The sky was blue, there was no wind whatsoever, and, as usual, the whole school was assembled in the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch, wearing red and blue scarves, lion flags and raven banners. Everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves.

Minerva took her usual place at the teachers' stand next to the pallid, red-haired Ravenclaw who had been asked to do the commentary. Minerva was not too fond of her, but they had not found anyone else willing to do the job, as most people were afraid of making a fool of themselves and not being able to live up to the excellence of the previous year's commentary, held by none other than the inimitable Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva shook her head to drive that memory out. Getting an unbiased commentary from Shacklebolt had required every bit of strength each time and still been practically impossible. At least, Minerva was surprised to find herself think, he had been favouring Gryffindor. And his commentary, at any rate, had never been boring.

'Ravenclaw in possession. Perks, Brown, Perks again, loss to Gryffindor. Samantha Gershwin flying towards the Ravenclaw goal keeper Bram Figg. Will she score? No. Figg's too quick for her.'

Minerva's thoughts wandered. Her sixth years needed some practical lessons again. Some of them would soon want to do their apparating license. She'd have to give them some time for preparation. Most of her first years were still not able to turn a needle back into a match. The Gryffindors, anyway. And some of the Slytherins. She sighed. It was so much easier with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. She wondered whether the situation had been quite the same at the times of the Hogwarts founders. Whether the trouble-makers had always sprung from old Godric's and Salazar's house. And never from the other two.

'IT IS THE SNITCH! HE'S GOT THE SNITCH!'

Minerva woke from her daydreams and looked down at the Quidditch pitch where James Potter was zooming about, his hand clutched tightly around the struggling golden Snitch. Gryffindor had won the match.

It was hard to fight your way through to the game's champion, but when Minerva had finally succeeded in parting the cheering crowd of students and banners and reached its centre, this year's seeker met her gaze with a broad grin.

'Well done, Potter,' she said, unable to keep herself from smiling broadly, triumphantly. 'I must say this looks very promising, indeed.'

'He's in,' the team captain Gilligan Shacklebolt said enthusiastically. 'There is no doubt about that. I knew he could win us the match!'

'Ye're a natural on that broom of yours,' Minerva told James approvingly. 'What is it?'

'A Nimbus,' Potter replied promptly. 'A birthday gift from my father. Smashing broom I can tell y-'

At that moment, a broad, muscular arm snatched the boy from behind and dragged him off his feet in wild enthusiasm. Minerva took a surprised step backwards.

'You did it!' Sirius Black's voice appeared from under the huge bunch of cloaks that was now towering in front of Minerva's feet. 'You're a bloody genius. I new you could do it. The commentary was crap, though. Dead boring. I'll ask if they let me do it - oh, hello, Professor.'

It was only now he spotted Minerva standing near by, pulling back his long fringe and scrambling to his feet again, wearing a broad grin on his handsome face. Once again, Minerva felt herself being unable to fight back an appreciative smile at the two of them.

'Well, Black,' she said in mock severity at last, 'I'll have you do the next commentary then. It will be Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff in a month's time.'

The boy's face was glowing with pride.

'Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor. I promise I'll get them hooked. Not like boring old Chris today. I'll do the thing properly.'

'Speaking of doing things properly,' James suddenly said, 'what have you done to your nose and your hands?' Sirius blushed.

'I'll tell you later,' he muttered from the corner of his mouth and Minerva noticed that he was glancing nervously towards a small group of Slytherins standing around the Ravenclaw Seeker, expressing their sympathy on the top of their voices. Among them was Lucius Malfoy. Minerva remembered having been forced to put him in detention once or twice, but apart from that - an inconspicuous child. Young man, more like, as he was one of the sixth years about to do get licensed for national apparating. He was certainly one of her more talented students, Minerva decided as an afterthought.

When she was pushed aside by a few over-enthusiastic Gryffindors, her attention was drawn back to reality. Potter and Black had left the crowd and were heading towards the lake, closely followed by two other students Minerva identified as their roommates Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

'Those four certainly have a very unusual friendship,' she suddenly caught herself thinking, 'but also the most intriguing one I have seen in years. And young Lupin does enjoy being part of a group for a change.'

Feeling thoroughly blissful now, she made her way back to the castle where, hopefully, a delicious Hallowe'en dinner was waiting to be consumed.

* * *

The mood of the game carried them through the following five or six days. James was celebrated as the new Gryffindor champion wherever he went these days and, of course, most people had heard about Sirius' promotion as the next Quidditch commentator. There were choruses in the corridors of 'Jamesy Pot, Quidditch god' and 'Potter for president' wherever they went. Sirius had begun to decorate the Gryffindor common room with moving images of James's head, but the Prefects had put a stop to that, so he had started handing them out in the corridors instead, on their way to classes and during the lunch break. It was six days after the match, when their high mood was suddenly disrupted by an unexpected incident. An unexpected person, in fact, though unpleasantly familiar to all of them.

They had been passing a group of Slytherins on their way to lunch in the Great Hall who had given their usual opinion on Sirius's handouts ('Yeah, we'd like some of those - the dungeons've run out of toilet paper!') when, a little behind his house mates, Severus Snape came round a corner. His nose was still swollen from the fight he and Sirius had had around the time James had made his spectacular catch, and he moved to the other side of the corridor as soon as he spotted the four Gryffindors coming towards him.

'Oy,' Sirius shouted, feeling rather good-humoured and in the mood of being offensive, 'want one of these, Sniffo? Bet you could use an idea of how a real winner looks!'

Snape shot him a foul look. 'Keep it. You can nail it to your bedroom wall as a commemoration when the real thing bursts, which is undoubtedly about to happen.'

'And what is that supposed to mean?' Sirius hissed, his hand moving towards the handle of his wand, realising he had been waiting for an opportunity to get back on Snape ever since the incident during the match.

Something seemed to go 'click' in Snape's head and he had pulled his own wand before Sirius had realised he was actually prepared to fight.

'Stupefy!'

Sirius fell back to the floor, to the surprise of the gathering students, unable to move or to speak. Within seconds James seized his own wand and was pointing it at Snape, who seemed thoroughly astounded that he had not been the first to hit the floor for a change.

'Petrificus Totalus!' James yelled, causing the greasy-haired Slytherin's limbs to snap against his body, making him fall flat on his back. James, however, did not stop here. He raised his wand a second time, now seething with fury.

'MR. POTTER!'

James whirled around, pocketing his wand within a second. But too late. He stood face to face with Professor McGonagall, who seemed not furious, but beyond reason.

'HOW DARE YOU PETRIFY YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS?' she bellowed, releasing Snape and Sirius with a wave of her wand. 'I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU!'

James and Sirius leapt into wild explanations at once while Snape let his wand disappear under his wide, black robes and made to leave the unpleasant scene. But this was not what McGonagall seemed to think.

'Exactly where do you think you're going, Mr. Snape?' she snapped. 'Don't you think I haven't observed the whole scene. You were the first to cast a spell, laddie. Detention to all three of you! Tonight. Give me your wands!'

'Now really, Professor, you can't-' Sirius began to protest, but McGonagall silenced him with a glance.

'I do not think it safe for you three to run around with your wands this afternoon, being in the heated mood you are. They will be restored to you after detention this evening. I know that means you will miss Quidditch practice, Potter, don't look at me like that. Eight o'clock sharp, all three of you.'

And with this she turned and stalked away, leaving James and Sirius in a very foul mood indeed.

'He'll pay for that one,' Sirius muttered under his breath, carefully looking around for eavesdroppers. 'Detention and our free afternoon _without_ wands - that can't go unavenged.'

'We'll think of something later,' James replied, feeling exactly the same way as Sirius did. 'I don't want to get into any more trouble. Especially not when I should be practising Quidditch in the evenings.'

Sirius nodded. 'I just hope she doesn't make us write lines again.'

* * *

It was five past eight when Sirius knocked on the door of Professor McGonagall's office on the third floor and he was not surprised to find that it flung open at once, granting him a look at a small, empty desk, surrounded by a few bookshelves and various chandeliers before he entered. McGonagall was standing beside the window, handing out blank pieces of parchment to his friend James and to Snape, who looked thoroughly unhappy at the given situation. Had he missed the crucial part or were they really going to write lines again tonight? McGonagall looked up as he entered and frowned.

'You are late, Black.'

'I met Mr. Filch and he insisted I tell him exactly where I was going and when I would return,' Sirius said, having met a couple of girls on the second floor and stopped for a quick chat, 'I'm sorry, Professor.'

The black-haired witch nodded. 'Very well, then. Come here and get your spare bit of parchment. You will do lines.'

'Again?' Sirius grumbled. 'I wonder if the forest has run out of wild animals.'

'Professor Dumbledore and I have decided,' McGonagall said sharply, 'that sending you and Mr. Potter into the Forbidden Forest does not seem to be much of a punishment. Thus the lines. And you will do nothing else until I return in about two hours time.'

'You'll leave?' winced Snape. Sirius shot him a contemptuous look.

'I have more important matters to attend to than watching you three do your detention,' Professor McGonagall replied, 'but I shall be back soon. And if I do not get three feet at least of _I must not fight in the corridors_ from each of ye, I shall be... severely displeased.'

Snape gulped. Sirius grinned at James, who winked. McGonagall, on the other hand, turned swiftly and made to leave her office.

'Please, Professor...' Snape made a last, pitiful effort of keeping her from leaving, shooting James and Sirius, the latter noted with a frown, an insecure, almost awkward-looking glance. 'I'd really like to do this somewhere else. B-by myself if possible.'

McGonagall turned on the spot. To the three students' surprise she was now rigid with fury.

'You three will learn how to put up with each other!' she barked. 'You seem to feel that curses are the only way of dealing with your dislike for each other. I want you to learn how to communicate like normal people. You will sit here,' she pointed at the empty table in front of her, 'and do your work quietly until I return. Yes, Mr. Snape, there is a lot of space for three people at that bench. Sit down, now. Potter, over here. Black, you'll take this side. And you will sit in the middle, Mr. Snape!' She was positively frightening now, so all three of them did as they were told and began to fiercely write their lines. Sirius glanced up briefly when McGonagall slammed the door behind herself, but he remained quiet, fearing she might wait and listen how they got on. No one said anything for almost an hour, until James slammed down his quill and leaned back on his side of the bench.

'Finished.'

Sirius gave him a surprised look and stared at his friend's parchment, where exactly three feet of lines said in a very untidy scrawl, '_I must not fight in the corridors'_.

'How many did you write?' he asked.

'Two hundred and seventy-six,' James replied casually and held up his paper. 'Come on, hurry up so we can go and get some food from the kitchen before it's dark.'

'We are not supposed to leave, remember?' said Sirius gloomily, 'She'll flay us alive if we do. We're here to learn how to keep up with this one.' He threw a disdainful look at Snape, who had not looked up or, indeed, stopped writing once since the moment McGonagall had left her office. He was squashing one sentence after another on his yellowish piece of parchment and his hair was falling over the lines he had written, making his minuscule writing impossible to read. Sirius gave James a significant look and both leaned over Snape's shoulders as if reading his lines.

'I must not contaminate the corridors,' James muttered, 'I must not start fights. I must not be a complete jerk, though I probably can't help.'

Sirius gave a short laugh. Snape, however, acted as if he had gone temporarily deaf and continued writing. James threw a Sirius a short grin and nodded expectantly. Sirius could not resist.

'I must not fail to wash my hair once a month as a minimum. I must not ignore my classmates. I must not pee into my pants every time I see them anyway.' This was too much for James. He broke into a fit of laughter, collapsing into his part of the bench, accidentally knocking down his three feet of parchment as he did. He dived for his work and caught it shortly before it had reached the floor. Sirius applauded in mock worship.

'And James Potter's back on the pitch again. What would the Chudley Cannons do without him?' James seemed to like the idea of entertaining himself with a bit of Quidditch and pulled out an apple. In immediate understanding, Sirius jumped to his feet.

'Pass the Quaffle!' he claimed, careful not to shout as to prevent Professor McGonagall from returning too soon. 'Come on, Potter, we'll win the match if this one goes in.'

'I am not a chaser,' James replied in a highly dignified manner, throwing the apple towards Sirius nevertheless, who caught it with a yelp of delight.

'Black's got the Quaffel,' he commented, 'passing it to Potter. Black again, Potter, Black and - goooooal! No, sorry. Potter again.'

They were throwing the apple at each other, trying to get to do a spectacular catch. Sirius enjoyed watching James's movements. They had something of an unmatched elegance about them he had only ever seen with professional Quidditch players before.

Ignoring Snape as thoroughly as possible, they managed to attain a fairly excellent mood, considering that they were supposed to be in detention. The game was perfectly exciting. Sirius took the apple and aimed at James's chest. When he tossed it with all his might, however, the apple slipped, smashed against the wall and burst. James pulled a grimace and let out a frustrated curse, causing even Snape to look up briefly from his work. Sirius grinned apologetically.

'I can get you a new one,' he said casually and flung himself down onto the bench next to Snape again, 'but for now, I suppose, we'll just have to wait until old McGonagall returns. Wasting our time with highly inventive leisure time occupations - such as this.' He took out his quill and poked Snape's arm, who jumped and, to Sirius's great surprise, shrunk back in his seat as if mortally afraid of something. Sirius and James both grinned.

'Bit jumpy today, aren't you?' Sirius remarked. 'Being nervous, Snivellus?'

Snape flinched.

'I think he's just scared,' James said, raising an eyebrow, 'look at his fingers.'

Sirius followed James's gaze. Snape's hands were shaking, though Sirius guessed this was not because of fear, but rather a safe sign that Snape was about to lose his unpredictably explosive temper. Sirius felt a jolt of excitement and rose his quill again.

For the first time now, Snape showed a noticeable reaction to their behaviour. His gaze darted towards Sirius's quill and then towards James, who had taken the opportunity to jump into the game and poked Snape's back with his own quill.

'Stop it!' he snarled, baring his yellowish teeth in fury. 'Keep your dirty paws of me.'

Sirius moved his quill forward and gave Snape another little jab.

'Itchy Snapey doesn't like being poked?' he said in mock concern. 'You prefer curses then?'

'I am quicker than you now,' hissed Snape. 'You can't curse me anymore.'

'That depends on the situation, I should say,' James remarked dryly. 'I would be eager to find out how quickly you react in fair conditions, say - the trophy room at midnight?'

'I am not doing nightly duels,' Snape said merely and turned back to his paper. 'They're not allowed. Now shut up and let me finish this.'

'Too bad,' Sirius prompted, 'that it is so difficult for you to fit us into your schedule.' He threw a meaningful look at James and poked Snape's arm again, noticing with delight how much it seemed to frighten him. 'I suppose, we'll just have to keep asking, won't we?'

'STOP POKING, YOU BLASTED FOOL!' Snape yelled. 'Stop it, or I'll... I'll...'

Sirius raised his eyebrows. 'What is it, Snivellus?'

Snape's black eyes narrowed to small slits, but he could not think of a reasonable way to finish his sentence, so, after a while, he went back to his lines.

'Not so cheeky now you haven't got your little wand with you, ey?' said James, having another go at Snape's shoulder. Snape jumped again and tried to cover both his upper arms at the same time. He looked ridiculously awkward. James and Sirius laughed.

'And speaking of cheek,' James continued. 'Next time, I suggest, you shouldn't try on Sirius and Peter all at once. Small though Peter might be - _you_ will never be able to live up to him.'

Sirius laughed and winked at James.

'That's true. Peter could take him single-handedly any time. Didn't look too good after the fight. I'd advise you not to bother us in future, Snivellus. It's for your own good, you know.' He made an emphasis on every word and dug his quill deep and deeper into Snape's black robes, who was still twitching every time he was touched, now trembling all over. James was joining him from the other side, underlining each of his movements with an insult.

'Pathetic. Stupid. Filthy. Ugly. Dees-guus-_ting_.'

Snape did not reply. He had pressed his lips together and was staring at his paper, but his hands were shaking and small drops were dripping onto the parchment, coming from somewhere under his greasy curtains of black hair. Sirius noticed it with some amusement.

'You're such a Moke, Snape,' he said softly. 'An embarrassment to the wizarding world. Or,' he grinned and resumed his poking, 'you're just extremely nervous. I advise you to go and see a doctor about this.'

Snape produced what sounded like a suppressed sob. Sirius leaned back and threw a meaningful look at James. This was boring. A snivelling Snape was not half as entertaining as a raging one. James nodded and yawned.

'Go on, Siri, finish your lines. You've got another few inches to fill, it seems.'

'Oh, right,' said Sirius, looking down at his parchment with a displeased frown, and, after a moment of disgusted hesitation, began to write again,

_I must not fight in the corridors._

_I must not fight in the corridors._

_I must not fight in the corridors._

The room went quiet again.

A couple of minutes later, the door opened and Professor McGonagall returned to her sanctuary. Two diligent Gryffindor looks met her stern gaze, whereas Snape continued scribbling vividly without looking up once. McGonagall decided on giving James and Sirius a rare smile.

'I am delighted tae see that you did not kill each other,' she said approvingly, handing them back their wands. 'Mr. Snape, ye can stop noo. We'll leave it here for today.'

Snape obediently packed away his quill, determinedly avoiding Professor McGonagall's gaze. She looked slightly taken aback, obviously taking his behaviour as a sign of reproach.

'Noo, don't be ridiculous, boy,' she said tartly. 'You can't be upset about a mere detention? Go on, look at me, or I won't be able to sleep comfortably tonight.'

With some effort, Snape brought himself to raise his head. Sirius noticed that his face was still glowing with tears of humiliation and anger. Unsurprisingly, Professor McGonagall made the same discovery. She frowned.

'Have there been any... problems?'

Snape hurried to shake his head. Sirius knew that he would have swallowed his tongue before admitting that a couple of insults had made him crack down and cry.

'Trust the Slytherin pride to keep you safe,' he thought, giving James a triumphant smile. His friend grinned and winked.

'You two are dismissed,' Professor McGonagall told them. 'Go to your dormitories. _Now._'

James did not hesitate. Sirius, however, approached the doorstep on a snail's pace and threw a last glance back before he finally reached it. McGonagall was bending down so that her face was now level with Snape's sallow face.

'Ye cannae have a couple of lines get ye doon like that,' she said quietly. 'There is no need to - oh no. Not again. Stop it! As I was saying - there is absolutely _no_ need tae cry.'

Sirius struggled not to throw in a comment, remembering that he had been told to leave, and quietly shut the door behind him. He gave his waiting friend a broad smile and they made their way up to Gryffindor, exactly as had been told.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I am a little behind with all my work, so the next update may take a while. I know, I know, I am not updating as often as I should anyway, but at the moment time is my greatest enemy and I need to consider thoroughly what to put into this part of the Oddball series, as it is a bit like CoS: most hints and important things for later events will be found in here. Thanks for your interest and patience, though. I greatly appreciate whatever questions and (intentional or unintentional) ideas you give me in reviews. ;) 

Oh, and: Silverthreads, I promise the odds will meet at some point. lol But I can understand if, at present, some things are still mightily confusing. There is a lot of plots that I'll have to tie in the end (which I intend to do), and the different perspectives really don't make things less confusing. Thus, so much Minerva at the moment. But I'll try and have this make sense in the end. Think I am yet to fail in that. ;)


	11. A Hogwarts Visit

**

A Hogwarts Visit

**

The door of Dumbledore's office was made of oak, with a little brass knob on one side and a number of rivets and ornaments on the semicircular framework above the actual entrance. Among the ornaments, there were little glyphs and an inscription consisting of ancient Anglo-Saxon runes with the occasional Latin comma.

_Whatever you do, bring newly invented yellow sweet._

Today's visitor raised an eyebrow, stared at the inscription for another while, trying to see whether he had deciphered the runes quite correctly, then knocked. This was, without a doubt, the headmaster's very personal... ah... improved version of the old _Quid Quid Agas Prudenter Agas_ - Whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability. Dippet had been an interesting man. Very interesting indeed.

'Yes?' said a voice from inside and Lance Snape entered a room that had changed much since last he had seen it.

'Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,' he said, hearing his dark voice reverberate from the walls and a number of oddly shaped objects on shelves everywhere. 'I hope this is not inconvenient.'

'Oh, oh no,' said Dumbledore quickly, shoving a few pieces of parchment aside as he stood up behind his desk. 'I asked to see you, didn't I?'

'I am early,' the soldier informed him. 'The floo network is improving.'

'Indeed, it is,' smiled Dumbledore, offering him a working man's hand. It had gone all wrinkly, Lance noted, but it wasn't trembling. Dumbledore was, as yet, not an old man. 'It has been a while. Do sit down, will you...' The headmaster thought for a while. 'Assistant Commissioner, I believe?'

'Lieutenant,' said the Snape. 'There is not much use for Commissioners down in M'bwa.'

'There you have the subtle differences between guards and soldiers, which I have never quite been able to understand,' smiled Dumbledore. 'So you are making your way in the wizarding army now. You moved, did you? Down to M'bwa? A hard choice, surely, what with your wife and son still up in London...'

'My son is at Hogwarts,' replied Lance somewhat coldly. 'And my wife, I believe, is a grown-up person, quite capable of looking after herself every once in a while.'

'Meaning she is better these days?' said Dumbledore hopefully.

'Yes,' said the soldier, careful to let his tone end the topic.

'I have been wanting to discuss something with you,' said the headmaster now, his eyes directed at a shelf behind the soldier, assuming a rather thoughtful expression. 'I...' He frowned. 'I cannot seem to remember what it was, but it was certainly important, or it would not have stuck...'

'The political situation,' said Lance helpfully. 'The war?'

'Yes... No!' said Dumbledore quickly. 'Well, yes, obviously. But... there was something else of which I was just reminded...'

He kept thinking for some more minutes, while Lance sat on his chair, very still, watching the headmaster's every movement.

'I might remember later on,' said the older wizard after a while. 'I have, of course, asked for this appointment to discuss political matters with you.'

Lance gave him an apprehending nod. He had anticipated this.

'I am sure you have heard about the decisions some people have made in recent weeks,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'Good ones... and bad ones.'

'I heard about young Umbridge being captured,' said Lance grimly. 'I haven't come round to question him personally, but Commander Robertson assures me that there was indeed an Unforgivable Curse involved. Meaning that Umbrige will probably remain up there for a while. Possibly a long one.'

'Commander Robertson?' said Dumbledore raising his eyebrows. 'Why... I was under the impression that this is the very person I gave the Potions position to at the beginning of the -...'

'His brother,' said Lance quickly. 'The whole family has been in the army for centuries. Very reputable name, Robertson.'

'I believe he is closely related to the McGonagalls?'

'McGillivrays, in fact,' replied the soldier. 'Minerva's family, not Topaz's. The very part of the family that emigrated to the Black Forest at the beginning of the last century.'

'I didn't know there was such a part.'

'Few people do. But I believe Commander Robertson's return to the British Isles has been causing a lot of trouble within the family, Professor. Hamish McGillivray tells me he has been through a lot lately, especially concerning his daughter.'

'Yes, she seemed slightly distressed,' muttered Dumbledore. 'But hardly anyone is unaffected by the current political situation, I daresay.'

Lance snorted. 'You can hardly call it a political situation,' he said. 'It is just a bit of a turmoil, really, caused by a bunch of incorrigible adolescents, trying to turn our world upside down - for the mere entertainment of it.'

'And yet, these "incorrigible adolescents" as you like to put it, seem to provide a danger for our world even I have not foreseen,' replied the headmaster thoughtfully.

'You mean Lestrange's insane requirements in front of the assembled ministry last week and his poorly conceived ideas of re-installing a purocracy within a few months' time? How far do you think he'll get with that?'

'I believe that many young wizards and witches are more than prepared to listen whenever someone tells them to smite their enemies and make the world their own,' said Dumbledore as quietly as before. 'And I also believe that not many of them are aware of who this enemy actually is.'

'I believe that not many of them are aware that, if they actually dare any childish attempt of overthrowing the Ministry of Magic, there is an army standing behind our current rulers that will _enforce_ disciplined behaviour by all means!'

Dumbledore smiled carefully. 'You are aware that we are not talking merely about a bunch of first-year students gone wild here, aren't you?' he said, folding his hands under his chin. 'These are the voices of young adults. Voices that must be heard.'

'Voices?' snapped Lance, feeling slightly indignant. 'But they are not negotiating. They don't seem to have any discernible demands.'

'Yes, they do,' said the headmaster, not moving as he spoke. 'I have asked several of them and they seem to be very clear about what they want to change within the Ministry and our society.'

'Well, I know about _those_ demands,' said the soldier sourly. 'Ridiculous ideas of how the world could be like if it weren't for the Muggles. _Unfortunately_, though,' he attempted a smile, sure that he would end up smirking, 'there is no such _thing_ as a Muggle-free world. Which will have to do for them.'

'I rather think a world without Muggles would be half as entertaining and surely not as full of astonishing gadgets,' said Professor Dumbledore, a twinkle in one eye.

'No need to twinkle at me,' said Lance coldly. 'I am fully aware that you think this way, and you are fully aware that I don't. But you also know that I will yield to whatever the elected Minister for Magic's course might be, whereas I seem to remember you being a fair opponent.'

'I am not your opponent, Lance.'

'No, you are more. You are not a politician, which is what makes you incalculable for most and dangerous for all, but you are meddlesome. That is what makes you useful. In a game of chess you would be the unknown factor. Everyone would want you on their side.'

'Do you want me on your side, Lance?'

'I don't want you on the other,' said the Snape coldly.

There was a short silence.

'So,' said Dumbledore after a while. 'You do not believe that the Lestrange brothers could be a threat to anyone because they are too young?'

'Because they are inexperienced,' replied Lance. 'And because they do not have a clear vision. They are not... organised.'

He used the word carefully and with feel. Dumbledore smiled.

'We need to have another game of chess again some time. You used to be an excellent player.'

'Well, I was a student with too much time at hand,' said Lance coldly, mystified by the new direction the headmaster's thoughts were taking. 'But what...'

'I seem to remember beating you several times because you underestimated the importance of a pawn,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'It is a detail that just suddenly came to my mind again.'

On his way down to the lower levels of the castle almost two hours later, Lance considered going all the way down to Hogsmeade to have a quick look around the old shops and houses before returning to Camden. He reflected that a quick visit at old Shacklebolt's bookstore was, in fact, always worth an excursion, even if this mean that he would possibly not be home before nightfall. And possibly, he could use the store's fireplace for his return, instead of walking up to the castle again afterwards.

He stopped and considered for a while whether the fireplace was actually big enough for a seven foot man to use for travelling, decided, after some time, that it might just work, and continued walking down Hogwarts's endless stairs, not quite concentrating on where he was going.

There were disadvantages, he decided, not only to living in a household that had to be protected by various anti-apparating enchantments, but also, sometimes, to being one of the largest people around. For some things...

He turned around another corner and realised that he had lost his way. How thick could you get? Seven years of Hogwarts, sixty years of age, and he was not capable of finding his way around in this blasted castle. Apparently.

Another corner, and he realised that he was standing in front of the Gryffindor common room. A large portrait showing a fat woman in a pink dress blinked at him tiredly, having just taken a late afternoon nap - apparently.

'Password?'

'Oh, don't mind me,' said Lance coldly. 'I merely got lost in these endlessly interlaced corridors.'

'Typical,' muttered the lady, closing her eyes again. 'I remember you. Never been of the brightest sort, have you? Always pushing people around?'

'And _I_ remember,' said Lance sourly, 'that pictures can quite effectively be sliced with a silver knife. Which I happen to have here in my pocket day and night. Would you care to see it?'

The Fat Lady opened her eyes again, giving him an appalled look.

'Is that a threat?' she said sharply.

'No,' said Lance, 'a contribution to your general knowledge.'

And he descended the same staircase from which he had come, knowing which way to turn now, having visited Gryffindor house countless times in the early years, in relation to a certain of its female inhabitants. He smirked.

Next he knew was that the corridors were filled with students. Prep time was over and people were heading for the Great Hall to have dinner.

The students (second- and third-years mostly) gave him curious glances as they were passing him, hurrying up and down staircases like ants in their hill. He was used to this, of course. People tended to note his presence, and that was as it should be.

He gave one or two third-years acknowledging looks, shooing others off with a mere glance. Then, suddenly, a familiar shape passed him from behind, descending the staircase at top speed. More of habit than anything, his hand shot out to grab the small boy's collar and lifted him a few feet into the air to look into his eyes.

'Severus,' he said. Finished classes, have you?'

Severus gave him an odd look, glancing at his fellow students beneath him with a nervous grin. There were a few hushed voices and a giggle.

'P-prep time,' he said. 'It's... it's dinner in a few moments.'

'So I seem to remember,' said Lance calmly. 'Your work going well at the moment?'

'Yes, sir,' said Severus quickly, his small ears reddening slightly behind the black bunch of loosening hair.

Lance raised an eyebrow and put him down. 'That, we shall see, of course,' he said. 'When is the end of term?'

'Friday before Christmas,' said Severus timidly. 'The Hogwarts Express is getting to King's Cross at nightfall.'

Lance nodded. 'Very well,' he said. 'Not long until then, I suppose.' He gave his son a light clap on the back, steering him into the direction of the Great Hall. 'Off you go now. I shall be taking this staircase.'

Severus vanished. Lance, on the other hand, finally made his way towards Hogwarts's giant entrance doors, leaving the castle and its grounds with a pensive expression on his face (Severus tended to have this effect on him), nearing Hogsmeade in his usual, swift walk.


	12. Talk and Reflection

**

Talk and Reflection

**

When the days grew colder, Remus began to think about the day he would have to leave Hogwarts and go home for another three weeks of holidays. Before Christmas everyone usually got excited about what presents they might get, how big their Christmas tree was going to be this year, and, not to forget, what a marvellous treat it would be to see one's parents and siblings again after such a long time. Remus, of course, had no siblings to look forward to, but he had a wonderful pair of parents and an auntie, who never spoke much, but was the best cook in the whole world. Also, Remus had a tortoise called Bight, whom he had sadly not been allowed to bring to Hogwarts, and a goldfish in a jar.

Since Remus had got bitten by a werewolf at the age of three his mother had often said how lucky they were to live so far away from civilisation, because the danger of Remus savaging a human being in this part of the country was about as likely as the probability of his father getting bitten by a sheep.

That was his mother for you.

Remus had considered staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, seeing as James and Peter had decided to stay as well. But he knew he would not. The longing to see his family again was stronger, plus it would be a transformation-free vacation for the first time in years.

Sirius, as he informed his friends grudgingly in the darkness of the Gryffindor common room, had no choice again but to go home, as his family's Christmas dinner was traditionally part of their annual schedule. Remus noted that the same seemed to account for other underage members of the Black family. ('Black' in its broadest sense, of course - 'pureblood' might have been a more appropriate label - or not.) Malfoy, Snape, Narcissa Black, and her sister Andromeda were all preparing for their journey home, the latter of the two sisters obviously as reluctantly as Sirius.

Remus had had a few very interesting chats with Sirius's brown-haired cousin, learning that by far not all members of Slytherin house were as conceited and unapproachable as James tended to assume.

Andromeda, oppressed by both, the exemplary image her sister had left (being multiple winner of several awards) and the responsibility she felt she had for her younger sister Narcissa had a few very valuable opinions about her close relatives and the political situation outside Hogwarts on the whole.

'It is quite insane,' she quietly told Remus, Sirius and James during homework prep on a wet and windy Friday afternoon near the end of November. 'Everyone seems upset about something these days, but no one actually knows what about, nor what to do against it. Have you noticed everyone is talking about 'Pureblood' pride, yet no one seems able to define the term properly? I mean - what is a Pureblood? How can you tell that you aren't... what do I know,' she grinned, 'three-quarter-blood or something? Some people have never even met their grandparents due to the great war in the nineteen-forties.'

Sirius was balancing his chair on its hind legs, getting on Remus's nerves by pricking his back with a small, black quill every now and then.

'I think the difference between a Pureblood and a normal wizard comes down to attitude,' he said carelessly. 'I mean - it's nothing to do with the actual blood anyway, has it? So one might just as well decide that Purebloods are all those incorrigible idiot members of the old families, who...'

'They'd still see _you_ as pure-blood, though,' said Andromeda. 'And you are not running around, making up songs about what you would like to do with Cornelius Fudge's head.'

James laughed. 'He is making up songs telling what he would like to do with Robertson's, though.'

'But anyway,' said Sirius quickly, throwing an angry glance at James, 'everyone's just making up a lot of crappy reasons to bang each other's head, don't you think?'

'You think it'll come that far?' said Remus quietly. 'Is it bad enough to start a war?'

'It is certainly bad enough to give one or the other teacher a bad headache,' replied Andromeda thoughtfully. 'And if McGonagall's worried, then there is usually a reason to it.'

'McGonagall is worried?' said Sirius, frowning. 'I thought she was always like that.'

'You haven't known her for very long, I take it,' replied Andromeda. 'It is only since last year that she started bustling around, being all nervous, starting to mutilate her speech... It's got to do with her family, though I am not entirely sure what.'

'Meaning she was different before that?'

'Lots,' said Andromeda. 'She used to be the usual Scot - quiet, slightly sarcastic... but boiling under the surface.'

'Well, she's not like that now,' said James thoughtfully. 'I bet it's us. Our year is too stressful for her.'

Sirius grinned. Peter laughed.

Remus, however, remained quiet and rather thoughtful in his seat. 'I daresay that we're not the reason,' he said, as earnest as ever. 'But what gave you the idea that there is going to be a war, Andromeda?'

'Oh... you hear things,' said the sixth-year vaguely. 'You know. When you're out there. I have a few very interesting people in my year.'

She had lowered her voice to a level of almost complete silence by now and their heads were so close together that Remus could feel the warmth of James's breath on his shoulder beside his ear.

'There is a plot,' she said. 'I believe that most terrible things are about to happen at Hogwarts. And there is nothing either of us can do against it, because when it comes down to politics, a student is usually as helpless as a dead fly in a water jar.'

'How do you know all that?' whispered James. 'This sounds like you have been taking part in some sort of secret conspiracy.'

'Ha!' said Andromeda, straightening up again in a hurry. 'Don't be ridiculous. Me? No way.' She got up and bustled over to a few of the boys' classmates, who were diligently bent over their various essays and started correcting their mistakes.

James shook his head. 'She must be out of her mind,' he said.

'Yes,' said Peter. 'But I don't think she was making a joke.'

'I am going to ask Balbina what she thinks about it,' remarked Remus very quietly.

Only Sirius was sitting on his chair, in a normal position for once, staring at the top of his desk, wearing an unfathomable expression, saying nothing - for once.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was very quiet during prep time, Severus thought. This was, most probably, because everyone below sixth form, except for him, was sitting in the Great Hall or, indeed, excused off sick, which meant that they were actually lying in their beds, curing their various illnesses, or at least pretending to do so.

Severus had been sitting on the common room's small leather couch for almost two hours now, staring into the flickering fireplace, trying to make sense of all the things that had been going on in his head lately. Lots of good things, and bad ones, and those he could not define as either.

First, Skein had disappeared. A definite bad. His friend Skein, who had always had the best of advice for him, and who had used to be there when everyone else had chosen to turn their back on him, had suddenly stopped appearing in situations of need. Instead, Severus had noted not without a certain mystification, Professor McGonagall had made it a habit to have him stay after Transfiguration, just for another few minutes, to recapitulate the lesson's important point. That is, she chose this way of keeping a closer eye on his work rather than putting him down in front of the assembled Gryffindor and Slytherin second-years. Which could actually count as an improvement, he resolved, considering that two weeks had passed now without him making a complete fool of himself in lessons. All in all, he found that Professor McGonagall's manner towards him was changing. Just slightly, he decided, but noteworthy nevertheless. It seemed as if the elderly witch with her emerald robes and black hair was suddenly recollecting the fact that she was a teacher and as such had certain duties to fulfil. But Severus would have swallowed his tongue before analysing any of his teachers' behaviour while they were in earshot, of course.

The most curious development of this term, he found however, had happened to him in Potions. Whereas during his first year at Hogwarts he had started off doing very well in all subjects that had to do with classifying or using plants in all sorts of ways, he found he had lost track of what "Professor Robertson" (having been forbidden to call him Rodney any longer) was trying to teach them in his lessons. Quite frankly, Severus believed that most of what this man issued in ninety minutes of Potions each Friday was a load of rubbish he learnt by heart the day before. But seeing as he had no intention of ruining his end-of-year exam grade, he kept quiet about it and tried to do the various essays on _Luring Liquids and How to Use Them in Times of War_ without complaint.

The last thing that had been on Severus's head for several days now was the matter of going home during the Christmas holidays. His father had sent him a short note that he himself would not be home before the 24th, meaning that Severus had to make his way back from King's Cross all by himself, most probably. Unless his mother's state had stabilised again, which might well be, considering that, as far as he could tell, he had not caused her any trouble in recent months. Severus closed his eyes just for a few seconds, his lips mouthing the silent hope of his mother's recovery, then opened them again - and looked into a pair of cold, dark eyes.

'Good afternoon, Mr. Snape.'

Severus backed away to the edge of the couch and kept staring, trying not to show just how much the person's sudden appearance had thrown him off course. Before he had even time to consider, his mouth had leapt into wild explanations about his reasons for not being in the Great Hall with all the others, but Professor Vector would not hear him out and raised her hand to end his stream of words, an unpleasant expression on her usually reasonable face.

'I am not hearing any more of this useless babbling,' she said sternly. 'I have had enough of your constant being out of bounds. What are you thinking, Mr. Snape, do you believe the school rules do not apply for you?'

Severus fell silent.

'I have had other teachers complaining about you being absent in lessons - without excuse,' said Professor Vector in a quiet and dangerous voice. 'Mr. Filch finds you in all sorts of places at all sorts of times - though, admittedly, it is only by accident that I found out about that - Professor McGonagall tells me that directly after the lesson you are in the least of cases capable of summing up the subject matter... Really, boy, do you live in a dream world?'

Severus hesitated. For quite some time. He was used to people continuing to rage at him if he did, but Professor Vector waited patiently until he had gathered himself enough to give a vague statement on the matter.

'I keep forgetting...'

'Keep forgetting what? Doing your homework? Turning up at lessons? Madame Hooch tells me you have skived off Flying again this week. Is that true?'

Severus shook his head. Professor Vector's voice assumed a murderous undertone.

'Then where have you been?'

Severus did not reply. 'The dungeons,' seemed hardly a thing to say in this situation, even if it was the truth. But he could not even remember which part of the dungeons. Only that he had been seeking some quiet after a long and stressful day's work. Eventually, he shrugged. Professor Vector was not pleased.

'And at the moment you are supposed to be in the Great Hall, preparing your homework,' she said accusingly. 'Is there any logical reason why you would be lingering in the commons instead of doing what is expected of you?'

'I was thinking...'

'I doubt that!' spat the young teacher, looking him up and down with unconcealed anger now. 'And I am at the end of my tether with your dim-witted, immature behaviour! Only children and fools go through life without the faintest reflection of what they are doing or why they are doing what they are. Since you cannot be the latter, having been sorted into Slytherin after all, I expect that you simply need to grow-up. Did you hear me? Grow up, for Merlin's sake!'

Severus was surprised. He had not seen his Head of House this angry before, nor had she ever before seemed to take interest in what he was essentially spending his time with. He inclined his head, looking his Head of House up and down, looking for signs of sarcasm. But there were none. She meant what she said. After a while, he just nodded.

'Alri-' What did his father say when he wanted to end a discussion... 'Very well,' he quickly corrected himself, trying to make his voice sound firm. 'I'll try.'

Professor Vector stared at him, taken aback, just slightly. Apparently, she was not used to students avowing their childishness, but Severus found that doing so would be the quickest way of putting an end to this conversation. Actually, he found himself thinking, this was behaviour which was, in fact, worthy of the house of Slytherin, considering that it said you could use any means to achieve your end. And his end was to get rid of the young Professor, who kept glaring for a while, cleared her throat, and eventually got up.

'Good,' she said sternly, in want of anything better to say. 'Prep time is over, I suppose. But I am seeing you in the Great Hall tomorrow, or I shall not be so... lenient again.'

Severus nodded again. Not speaking. Staring straight at the floor. It's what grown-ups wanted, he found. Children not quite meeting their eyes when they were giving them a lecture. It was usually considered impertinence, not friendliness, he had found, resulting in more lecture - or worse.

He did not raise his head until Professor Vector had left the commons, steaming like an old engine. He grinned. Then, very pointedly, he took out a small notebook, opened the page that said 'November, 3rd week, homework prep', and carefully made a tick behind today's label. Then he got up and went quietly to his dormitory before the other students returned.


	13. Remus

**

Remus

**

The evening before his departure Sirius returned to the dormitory rather late and was surprised to find only Remus still reading, while James and Peter had gone to the land of nod, apparently hours ago. The young werewolf looked up only briefly when his friend entered and gave him an acknowledging nod before returning to his lecture. Sirius smiled curtly, pulled off his robes and the shirt underneath and slammed himself on his bed, half-naked, scratching his chest and stomach as he did. It took a little while before Remus looked up again and Sirius made sure to give him the grin he always reserved specially for these occasions.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

'Got news?'

'I have been looking up... stuff.'

Remus sighed. 'Well? Found a way of tackling a werewolf without destroying their personal biological clock?'

'You are still sulky because of that?' Sirius tried to look offended.

'I do not trust your ideas before I know all about them because of that,' said Remus quietly. 'Well?'

'Transfiguration!' grinned Sirius. 'We are going to keep you transfiguring each other into simple furniture.'

'Forget it,' said Remus quietly. 'Three reasons why I won't even consider trying this. First, there is no way you are going to make them believe you were just doing advanced study in case you get caught. It is too obvious. Second, we haven't even mastered reptile transfiguration. How on earth do you suppose are we going to transfigure each other? Last, it is far too dangerous. As are all your ideas, really.'

'Puh...' Sirius put the book away he had brought with him and got rid of the rest of his clothes with a short, angry push. 'You are just too cowardly to try things out, werewolf.'

'Don't call me that,' said Remus, as quietly as before. 'I told you it's not nice.'

'It's true nevertheless.'

'Yes, but it's also true that you are a Pureblood, and I am not stressing that all the time.'

'You could. It's another truth.'

'But you wouldn't like it.'

Sirius considered for a moment. 'Point taken,' he said eventually. And after a long while of consideration: 'How did you come to be a werewolf in the first place, Remus? What happened?'

'I got bitten,' said Remus matter-of-factly, a veil seeming to cloud his normally rather pleasant look for a moment. 'What do you expect?'

'No, I mean really. What exactly happened? Is there a werewolf running around at... at... where d'you live again?'

'The Isle of Mull,' said Remus quietly. 'We moved there when I was a small child. Shortly before I got bitten. I... I do not remember much of that time, to be honest. My parents had a few problems... at that time... with the officials and... and that is why we had to leave England. Got as far as that. And that's where I grew up. On the Isle of Mull - or Dull, as I like to call it. Not much to see up there, really. Not many humans.'

'Which might have been a lucky coincidence given your later state,' said Sirius, eating a banana he had nicked from the kitchen earlier this day. 'But what _happened_?'

'I do not know!' said Remus sharply. 'How often do I have to tell you? I can hardly remember that time. Though I do remember a lot of soldiers being around at that time. I think that was when my father started his job with them. There were lots of formalities to -...'

'Your father works for the wizarding army?'

'The ministry,' said Remus quickly. 'Muggle correspondent. Yes, there is such a thing. Don't look like that. It's just a job. He's not spying or anything.'

'At least not on us,' said Sirius grinning, 'or you wouldn't give away these details so willingly.'

'I suppose not.'

Remus sounded tired. Sirius bend forward just slightly to look the young Halfblood into the eyes to show him that he was still interested.

'You said something about soldiers.'

'Yes, soldiers,' said Remus slowly. 'You know - the ones wearing that ridiculous red uniform and those short robeish-looking thingies. Looking a bit like the Muggle ones during colonial times, only more... I dunno... wizard-like.'

'And you've had to do with them?' enquired Sirius. 'A lot?'

'Not much,' said Remus pensively. 'I don't much approve of them, to be honest. Aren't the friendliest of people. Only they're the cream of the crop of wizardkind, you know. Only the very best of those graduating at Hogwarts. A bit like Aurors, really. The difference is that Aurors defend our country from inside and guard the wizarding prison, while those... soldiers seem more the attacking kind.'

Sirius grinned. James stirred. Remus gave him and Peter a worried look, then, with a sigh, put his book aside.

'I am sorry I can't tell you much about the matter,' he said eventually, trying to sound conciliable. 'It's just... I really don't remember most things to do with the bite. My parents never told me much about it. I know that my father totally lost it at the time and almost killed the soldier who'd been responsible for the attack. It's been an accident, apparently. But he doesn't think so. He thinks the assault was aimed at me in specific to drive our family away from Mull. He thinks there is more to the island than everyone dares admit. Only, he cannot seem to put his finger on what that might be. Then again, he is a bit paranoid, so my guess is that he's making it all up. And the soldier was severely wounded at that time. They had to withdraw part of their troops, fearing such an incident might occur again. Didn't seem to want trouble. So much for my father's diplomacy. Well... good for them, I suppose. I still think it was all just a huge misunderstanding, though. My father tends to take things the wrong way, and I am told soldiers are no different.'

After this seemingly endless speech, Remus took a few deep breaths and flicked his wand at the small light next to his bed and at Sirius's, wrapping the room in total darkness.

'Night,' he said simply, obviously feeling that all had been said that needed to be discussed. After a short while of silence Sirius heard his light, even snore and decided to try and sleep as well, despite the fact that he had originally wanted to finish another book on Advanced Potions tonight.


	14. Virbia

**Author's Notes:** I am back from two weeks of sun, sand, and sea. No internet, though, so I apologise to all of you who have been waiting for an update all the time. It was a rather spontaneous decision. A good one, though, as I am several chapters ahead now, all of them longer of what I tend to create during lesson time. Ah, the pleasure of writing. And I even had time to do a bit of "Notes" writing. So, all in all, an enjoyable summer so far. Hope for you lot as well.

* * *

**

Virbia

**

On Christmas morning Severus woke with a start.

Nothing unusual these days - his dreams were usually filled with all kinds of memories, and, Severus found, he did not have too many pleasant ones to choose from, at least not of a kind that let you sleep peacefully for a full nine or ten hours each night. He realised that he had not had more than eight hours of sleep for over a month now and then decided that it was time to get up and dressed.

His wardrobe was one of the old-fashioned kind. As, indeed, almost all the furniture in the house, except, perhaps, for mother's bedside table, which had been a gift from one of her friends at school. It was screaming blue and Severus knew that his father hated it. But there you had it - the only person seeming to have any influence at all on the bull-sized soldier these days was his little 5'2 wife. Virbia Longbottom Snape had been in an astoundingly good state of mind for weeks. Ever since Severus had returned she had been talking to him about all sorts of things, enquiring rather pleasantly about his life at Hogwarts and his friends. Severus had realised how much she was missing him during the term only when she alluded to the Easter holidays and how much she would like him to return for those two weeks instead of him staying at Hogwarts. Even though she had to know that those were directly before the end-of-year exams and thus his only real chance of getting some revision done. She had also not yelled at him once since his return and known his name at all times, which Severus found to be an improvement to their last encounter.

When he opened his bedroom door, Severus peered cautiously through a small gap in it before stepping down the staircase and into the hallway. It was a habit rather than necessary at the moment, as his father had not returned from Azkaban yet, of course.

In an unusual fit of daring, Severus decided to go and see whether his mother was already awake. He stepped towards the door behind the staircase, hesitated just for a second, then opened the door just a crack.

It was very dark inside. The even breathing of a person on the right side of the bed told him that his mother was there but asleep and that it was probably best not to disturb her. So he withdrew, shutting the door quietly, turned, and was lifted into the air by his collar before having time to even gasp.

'Severus!' snarled a well-known voice, belonging to the person lifting him into the air without effort. '_What_ did I tell you about this room?'

Severus's heart sank to the bottom of his knees.

'I didn't go in! I swear I -...'

'_What_ did I tell you?'

'I w-wasn't breaking the rules. I s-swear I never set foot in it! I was just looking. I just wanted to...'

'_Severus!_'

Severus felt his insides cramp and his eyes unable to return the icy glare that was watching him up and down, waiting for an answer. Eventually he gave up.

'Don't enter the downstairs bedroom,' he whispered. 'I am... I mustn't enter it. Never... go in.' The last words were the least audible ones, but his father seemed to have heard well enough. After a short pause he lowered his son back to the floor, watching the small door behind Severus with a pensive air about him.

'Good for you, you didn't,' he said coldly.

Severus stared at the floor, feeling himself getting tense and very nervous, as usual when his father was around and not in the best of moods.

'How is she?' enquired the soldier now and Severus looked up in surprise.

'Mother?'

'Of course,' snapped the soldier. 'Who else? Has she been... well?'

'Ever since I was here,' said Severus timidly. 'She knows who I am.'

'That certainly is a good sign,' said his father and Severus could not help notice a minuscule smile playing around his lips. 'And apart from that?'

'Lance!' The door flung open and Severus's mother stormed out, her white night-dress flattering around her legs, her face full of pleasant excitement as she flung herself around the soldier's neck kissing every part of his face. 'You're back! You're back! You're back! You're back! You're back!'

Severus looked away, unsure what to think, but feeling himself smile indistinctly at his mother's unexpected outbreak. His father seemed surprised as well.

'I see you are in the best of moods,' he said quietly, bending just slightly to give her hands the opportunity to close behind his neck.

'Well, it's Christmas,' said his wife happily. 'We are going to have a wonderful day and then go up to Gladia's, won't we? As every year?'

'Of course,' said her husband as quietly.

'And Severus even put up a sock,' said Virbia happily. 'Haven't you, Puffskein? Have you checked it already?'

The sock. Of course.

Severus shook his head quickly and hurried to the living-room, where, at his mother's behest, he had hung up one of his socks the day before, more to please her than himself, really, as he had found out there was no such thing as Father Christmas by the age of three. There was also a small Christmas tree in one of the corners, which his mother had summoned after some consideration, in spite of the fact that they would be spending the evening at Grimmauld Place. Severus approached the fireplace wearing a rather doubtful look on his face, trying not to imagine his father's expression as he reached for the sock and peered in carefully, as if afraid of its content.

It turned out, however, that he had forgotten just how excellent it was to receive Christmas presents just like that. The packet "someone" ('Mother Christmas,' he thought, grinning) had managed to squeeze into the small sock was large and squashy and there were red and yellow dots on the paper. Severus inclined his head, gazed at the unusual sight for a few moments, then, very cautiously, feeling just slightly nervous, opened it.

To his surprise, he looked into the eyes of a rather bandy-legged dragon. Not a real one, obviously, but a soft toy, grey in colour, which was staring up at him through large, artificial eyes, seeming to say, 'You are a young man of pride. Cuddle me!'

Severus frowned and looked up. He was almost certain that he had actually _heard_ those words, but was sure not the dragon had spoken them. Taking the animal out of its paper wrapping he gazed around, wondering whether Skein was back (as this was just the kind of joke he would make), and eventually looked back at the dragon, a warm feeling suddenly spreading inside him, making him smile at the stuffed animal.

'Isn't he a bit old for this kind of toy?' came his father's dark voice from the door and Severus turned.

'I wouldn't know,' replied his mother cheerfully. 'You think you are too old to play, Puffskein?'

'I think he is wonderful,' replied Severus after a second's thought. 'I am going to call him Pebble.'

'Pebble?' said his father, frowning. 'Don't be ridiculous. You can't mean you are actually going to name it?'

'Oh, don't be so gruffy, darling,' said Virbia cheerfully. 'I am sure _you_ used to play with stuffed animals when you were young.'

'I most certainly did not,' snapped the soldier and Severus had the distinct impression that he was not lying.

A memory suddenly came to his mind, of a Christmas long past, when his father had been with them for the first time ever - according to what his mother had told him in later years. Severus, of course, had been no older than four or five and could thus not quite remember the details of this specific encounter. He did remember, however, that the day had lead to a disaster, with his father shouting at him and even at his wife for taking her son's side in a matter, which Severus now preferred to forget. It had not been a happy Christmas. Not at all.

'And in any case,' said his mother, 'it is not just a toy. When he's grown -'

Severus's mouth fell open at the thought of the stuffed animal growing even further and his father frowned.

'Grown?'

'They do grow,' said Virbia sternly. 'And they need a lot of care. He is one of Weasley's down in Metacamden. Excellent man, I can tell you.'

'So, what did you say he was going to do?' enquired her husband weakly.

'He is a waker,' beamed Virbia. 'A bit like an alarm clock, really, only that it is a lot nicer to be woken by him. Weasley is making a fortune of them.'

'Can't be the Weasley branch _I_ am acquainted with then,' muttered Severus's father. Virbia smiled slightly and pressed his hand, making the soldier shift edgily, give Severus a side-glance, and then, thinking that the boy was engaged with his Christmas present, place a very brief kiss on the tip of his wife's nose. Virbia beamed. Severus took great care of fighting the temptation to grin and stared straight at his dragon instead, not moving.

His mother, on the other hand, now pointed at the mantelpiece once more, making Severus turn and look at another sock. A larger one, in black. His father raised an eyebrow at it and another one at his wife. Questioning.

'Why on earth... I trust it is not another cuddly toy?'

'Open it,' whispered Virbia, throwing a meaningful glance at the mantelpiece and then at Severus. 'I thought you might like some napkins.' She grinned.

The soldier did not reply, but he went and inspected the sock nevertheless, giving it a look that let the hair on Severus's back curl. He pulled the brim of the sock with one finger, peered in, and eventually pulled forth a small, solid parcel - a bit too fast not to appear interested in its content. Within a moment he had opened it and was staring at a tiny, blue hourglass that was filled with several screaming pink bubbles.

'A time-turner,' he said, looking baffled. 'How on earth did you come by such a thing?'

'Oh, it's just a small one,' said Virbia, a smile spreading on her pale face. 'You can't go back more than ten or twenty minutes, I should say. But I thought it might come in handy if ever you are late for a meeting.'

'Which is yet to happen,' replied the soldier, smiling warmly. 'But I shall use it to return home ten minutes early whenever I can.'

Severus made a mental note on the fact that his father would be able to be in two places at once from now on. His mother beamed and took the soldier's big hands into hers.

'And we shall be looking forward to that, won't we, Puffskein?'

Severus nodded absently.

'All this business of giving things to each other,' said his father after a short moment's silence. 'It really is quite unnecessary.'

'I know you don't approve of it,' said Virbia quietly. 'But when I saw the timeturner I wanted you to have it.'

'Well,' said her husband sternly, 'as a matter of fact, there is something I would like you to have as well. And,' he nodded towards Severus, 'the boy.' After another moment of silence he added, 'Found both items this afternoon and thought they might come in handy.' He went over to the fireplace, drew his wand, threw a handful of floo powder into the fire and said, '_Transferre_.'

A jet of flames emerged, and two parcels. One quite small, the other oblong and big, though obviously not very heavy. The soldier gave it to his son with an expression on his face, which Severus found difficult to read.

'Open it.'

Severus did and immediately felt his insides turn.

'Thought you might like to have your own broom when the new term starts,' said his father, watching his son's reaction with interest. 'I am sure they'll let you into the Quidditch team if you put a bit of effort into your flying.'

Severus said nothing. Instead, he looked at his mother, who was holding a pair of small, round mirrors in her hands, one looking like the other, the two of them bearing the obvious purpose of communication. She was beaming.

'I'll be able to call you at any time,' she laughed, not realising that Severus had gone comparatively pale around the nose. 'And I will. At random points of the day. Even when you're on duty.'

The soldier grinned. 'I know you will. And I hope you will use it in case of an emergency, too,' he added, his voice bearing traces of concern and a sincere gravity in it. Then his look returned to Severus. Stern and thoughtful, not unfriendly, still bearing the odd shimmer of what Severus suspected was his father's kind of excitement. He tried to smile.

'Well, go on,' said the soldier, and unfathomable undertone in his voice. 'Let's see you do some flying.'

'Not in here, Lance,' said his mother quickly. 'The tree.'

'Why on earth did you summon one anyway?' enquired her husband, walking over towards the balcony door. 'It's not as though we shall be spending much time in here over Christmas.'

'I felt like it,' was the simple reply.

Severus felt his stomach cramp as his father, considering this for a moment, nodded curtly and opened the balcony door. He knew what was expected of him and did not like the thought. He was afraid of that balcony - had always been, but what was even more frightening was the idea of mounting a potentially dangerous flying device in order to hover some fifteen feet above the ground. A concrete ground.

'Maybe later,' he mumbled, feeling his face flush.

His father frowned. 'I think not. We shall not have time later, and I have to be back at the camp first thing tomorrow morning.'

Severus threw an agitated look at his mother, then at the balcony door. His insides seemed to be turning. 'I... I'd rather not,' he whispered. 'Not now... not... not the balcony. I don't think that'd be a good idea.'

He was sweating. He knew it. His father on the other hand, had raised one eyebrow, slowly, very dangerously, and gave him another icy look.

'You don't think so, do you?'

'Leave him,' said his mother nervously. 'Lance, if he doesn't want to fly...'

'...then it is quite clear why he brings home such abysmal grades, isn't it?' snarled his father. 'If he refuses to even _try_.'

'Madame Hooch advised me to not start off from anywhere above ground level,' said Severus quickly. 'I'm just... not good enough yet.'

'NOT GOOD ENOUGH?' Within seconds his father had leapt up and Severus felt himself lifted into the air by his collar once again. 'NOT GOOD ENOUGH? JUST HOW THICK TO YOU THINK I AM? YOU HAVE HAD FLYING LESSONS FOR OVER A YEAR NOW, MY SON! DON'T YOU THINK IT IS ABOUT TIME YOU STARTED GAINING APTITUDE?!'

'Plus,' said a calm voice from the door, 'Madame Hooch never said that you weren't good. She only advised you to be careful with where you start off. Are you lying at your own father?'

Severus turned around wildly. His mother was standing next to the door, quite flabbergasted at her husband's outbreak, side-glancing at Skein, who was leaning in the door frame, balancing on one leg, giving Severus derisive looks.

'And you _haven't_ been making an effort, have you?' he said.

Severus yelled, 'SHUT UP, YOU IDIOT!' at exactly the same moment as his mother hissed, 'Shut up, Licinius!' which Severus knew Skein called himself in front of her. Then a mighty blow met his face and for a moment he could not see anything but white and yellow stars dancing in front of his eyes and around his father's head.

'WHAT DID YOU CALL ME??!!'

'No-o...' said Severus weakly, wondering how to explain this, before another blow came down upon him, and another.

'Don't you dare talk to me like that,' snarled his father, tightening his grip. 'Don't you dare tell me to shut up!' Severus felt his face explode with pain once again, pulled a pained grimace, and bit back the upcoming tears, only half taking in the accompanying lecture.

'No talking back! Who do you think you are? An idiot, am I? And how often do I have to tell you that you are _not_ to shout at me!'

Another sharp slap, half meeting the ear this time, seemed to tear his head apart.

Severus dissolved in tears. He could not help it. Struggling helplessly against the massive soldier's iron grip he tried to explain himself, but all that came out of his mouth were suppressed sobs and some unintelligible stammering. His father was not pleased.

'Get a grip onto yourself,' he snarled eventually, letting to of his son's robes, glaring into his face. 'Don't you think that was all I have to say to the matter. You are such a child, Sev-'

He stopped, suddenly, staring at a point behind Severus, who turned quickly to see what was wrong. The blurred picture of the living-room door appeared in his sight, and a heap on the floor. There was no sign of Skein anywhere and it took Severus several moments to realise who the heap on the floor must be.

'Virbia!'

With a clank Severus felt himself pushed against a bookshelf, saw his father skid past him and towards his wife, who had collapsed in the door frame. Within seconds he lifted the small woman in his broad arms, without apparent effort, and carried her out of the room towards the small door under the staircase. His son, it seemed, he had forgotten the instant his wife had lost consciousness. Severus took the opportunity to slip out of the living-room and upstairs as to not be in the way when his father came out of the bed-room again, possibly looking for someone to blame for this. Without a sound Severus closed his own bed-room door and sank down on his bed, his face covered with both hands.

'Mother,' he whispered, fighting a new flood of tears - unsuccessfully. 'Mother...'


	15. Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place

**

Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place

**

The day had passed quite uneventfully, Sirius thought. His mother had enquired about Regulus's marks and, quite surprisingly, about his own, meaning that she was in a good, presumably chatty mood. No wonder, of course, as the annual Christmas dinner was approaching and it seemed that, once again, a large number of family members would be taking part. The Lestranges were off abroad this year, as it seemed, but great-uncle Ferdinant would be coming, and several of the Longbottom family, having made up their old feud with the Malfoys earlier this year.

All in all, Sirius thought, the beginning of the holidays had not been half as stressful as the last, meaning he had seen his useless brother not half as often as expected. Also, his mother had been in a considerably good mood for days, and his father was off to M'bwa until later this day.

Sirius considered himself content. He had cleaned the attic, caught Kreacher fooling around and locked him in for it. After that he had collected a few potions ingredients from the kitchen and finished the first part of his homework for Professor Robertson. Then, when the sun had set and he heard his mother starting to uncork the wine, he finally made his way downstairs to welcome any guests who might be one or two hours early - which happened often enough.

The first to arrive, his robes as red as the jet of flame that brought him into the dimly lit living-room of Grimmauld Place number twelve, was Cardinal Ferdinant M. Figg, Sirius's great-great-uncle, always referred to as either 'the good Cardinal' or very simply 'great-uncle Ferdinant'. Sirius had never liked the dark-haired, grim-looking wizard much, who was officially employed for the Christian church of South Africa, but unofficially worked as a spy for the wizarding army and, incidentally, was one of the most well-paid wizards of his time. Sirius did not like well-paid men. Especially when they let everyone know that they were.

'It has been a long time, Sirius.'

'Yes, great-uncle.'

'You been well recently?'

'Yes, sir.'

Great-uncle Ferdinant surveyed Sirius through a pair of narrow spectacles and then nodded, not quite sure, it seemed, whether to aim his gaze above or underneath their gold brim towards Sirius.

'And your mother, I presume? I know about your father, of course. He will join us momentarily. But I have not seen your mother for weeks, which is always regrettable, of course.'

Sirius shrugged. His great-uncle made a point of surveying him even more.

'You have grown. You look a lot more like your father than you used to. - Uhm... you have been sorted into Gryffindor, I hear?'

'Not my fault!' said Sirius quickly, knowing that everything else would get him into trouble. Great-uncle Ferdinant nodded.

'Of course not. And the important thing is attitude, after all, isn't it? What are you planning to do when you grow up?'

'Err...' Sirius could not say with honesty that he had wasted much thought on the matter yet, but he assumed his uncle was aiming at a specific topic anyway, so he said after a moment's consideration, 'I am not joining the army.'

'Pity,' said the Cardinal curtly. 'It seems the only thing to do for a young man of your heritage. What makes you think your father will exempt you?'

Sirius remained silent. He knew that most wizards of a certain age went off to do the basic tryouts for the wizarding army, to become soldiers or Aurors later on, but it just did not seem to be the thing to do for him. And he knew that he would not let himself be forced to join.

'I would much rather go into academic research,' he therefore said vaguely, not sure whether the course he had taken was the best so shortly before all grown-ups of his family gathered for a meeting with the only purpose of spreading gossip. 'I might consider a career in Potions.'

His great-uncle frowned. Sirius grinned. He had hit a nerve.

'You like Potions, then?'

No, thought Sirius, it is boring and useless. Not even real magic. Just a bit of cookery with the pretence of being a magical discipline. Its only advantage is that my whole family seems to loathe it for some reason or the other.

'Yes,' he said. 'It is an excellent subject.'

'You might want to revise this view,' said great-uncle Ferdinant sternly, 'but you have another few years left, of course. Now... where are the others? Why isn't anyone here yet?'

'You are several minutes earl-' Sirius made to say, but at that moment the fireplace lit for a second time and a number of people entered the room, looking around curiously as at least the younger of them had never entered this house before. Sirius resolved that this had to be Lucilius Longbottom with his wife and several of their children and relatives.

'Great-uncle Ferdinant!'

The good thing about great-uncle Ferdinant, Sirius resolved, was that he drew all attention towards him like a Muggle in Diagon Alley. Everyone wanted to talk to him, to be talked to by him, or, if nothing else, to be acknowledged in his presence. Sirius had enough time to back away against the Christmas tree his parents had set up once again near the fireplace and was suddenly facing a buckle of a size that told him that there was only one person in this world big enough to wear such a thing.

'Uncle.'

'Sirius.'

'I... I'll fetch mother, shall I?'

'Acceptable suggestion. Where is your father?'

'Still down in M'bwa, uncle.' He frowned. 'How come you don't know?'

'M'bwa is of considerable size,' said his uncle simply. 'I have not had to do with the lads from the west end for a while.'

'I... I see.'

Sirius realised that he did not feel comfortable talking to Lance Snape, even knowing that the latter could not possibly be in a bad mood on Christmas Eve. However, the soldier's stern face, the facial colour of his wife and something in his son's expression told Sirius that fetching his mother at this specific moment would be a very wise thing to do.

It was not much later when all the family was gathering around the large table next to the Christmas tree to have their first round of Black wine. Sirius had managed to take a good look around and at the guests, finding that of the Malfoys only Lucius's father Marius had turned up, that his cousin Andromeda seemed to be missing, and that there were far too many Longbottoms in this room for his taste.

'Gladia, your wine is excellent as usual,' said Sirius's uncle Mercurius when there had been a solemn silence for a while. 'I keep looking forward to this day only to taste it.'

'Thank you,' said Sirius's mother, giving him a thin smile. 'I shall bear that in mind.'

Marius Malfoy grinned.

'Another year over,' he said, gazing into the black liquid before him. 'And I have not even seen it pass. How about you all? Doesn't time increase its pace as the summers pass and your hair starts getting grey?'

'Marius,' said Sirius's father with a pointed look at his cousin's jar, 'are you drunk before the evening has even started?'

'Ah,' said Marius, 'so it seems, doesn't it? But I merely feel it is time to remember the old times. To talk about what was and never will be again.'

'I start getting an idea as to why your family preferred to stay away this year,' said Gladia coldly, helping herself to more wine. 'You really sound as if you ought to have yourself checked.'

Lucilius Longbottom gave a short cough that sounded like suppressed laughter. Sirius grinned, but stopped quickly again. Today's mood was not at all what he was used to from family gatherings. People were more quiet. More solemn. He exchanged a look with his cousin Bellatrix who was wearing a gloomy, bored expression and kept avoiding everyone's gaze.

'Your son,' great-uncle Ferdinant said eventually, looking at Sirius's father, who turned his head to Regulus instinctively, 'has just informed me that he is not willing to take the basic training.'

Sirius closed his eyes briefly. His father's gaze (and everyone else's, really) fell upon him at once.

'Has he, now?'

'Great-uncle, please,' said Sirius quietly. 'What does it matter?'

'That's right,' said his father cheerfully. 'What does it matter what Sirius wants or not? It is not a question, is it?'

'It shouldn't be,' growled Sirius's uncle Lance, causing the good Cardinal to nod in agreement.

'What makes you think you'll have a say in that, Sirius?' asked his aunt Gaia interestedly. 'It's traditional, isn't it? Everyone's doing the basic training, regardless of whether they intend to fully join later on.'

'Is Severus going to?' requested Gladia, giving her brother Lance a curious look.

The soldier's gaze darkened. 'As I say,' he growled, 'it should not be a question.'

'Ah, but it is,' appeared his wife's small voice from behind him where Sirius could not see her. 'Less and less people find it necessary to send their sons to M'bwa between their fifth and sixth year of school. They are getting a thorough academic education at Hogwarts, after all. What would they need the basic training for?'

Lance stared at her with an obvious air of surprise and slight anger about him.

'Virbia,' he said after a while. 'We are talking about the army here.'

'Well,' said his wife, a slight smile playing around her pale lips, 'I would have preferred you staying in London in the early years. The army does not only have advantages, you know.'

Several people smiled. The way Mrs. Snape pointed out the obvious without consideration of what people might think about it found admiration among her listeners, just as often as it caused offence.

Sirius was just considering whether Virbia had passed her ability of picking the worst possible enemy by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time on to her son, when Lucilius Longbottom cleared his throat and placed his glass on the table for everyone to note.

'Personally,' he said, 'I agree with Sirius. It should be his decision what he wants to do with his future. And if he wants to go into research, I do not see what should be so wrong about that.'

'Research?' snapped Sirius's mother sharply. 'What kind of research?'

Sirius closed his eyes again and waited. Taking great-uncle Ferdinant on a ride had been entertaining enough, but his parents... and the whole rest of the family... all at the same time... this was quite a different matter. He opened one eye again and saw Severus Snape throw a derisive grin at him. A painfully familiar, hot anger rose inside him and before he could help himself he had opened both eyes again, looked straight into his father's eyes and said: 'Potions.'

With a jolt of satisfaction he saw everyone's jaw drop (including Snape's - both Snapes', in fact, were looking at him as if he had just announced his girlfriend's pregnancy).

'Potions?'

'Not really!'

'As if!'

The last had been Snape. Sirius rounded on him, threw him a derisive look up and down and said: 'You are quite cheeky for someone with _your_ flying abilities claiming to be trying out for the army in a few years' time.'

The younger Snape's face flushed. His father shot Sirius a look that sent a shiver down his spine and slowly put down his glass.

'Careful,' his gaze seemed to say, and Sirius was. He knew that of all the people in the room Lance Snape was the last he would want to insult, even with his parents and a handful of other people close by.

'I am sorry,' he said dutifully, knowing that an apology would not make his last remark unsaid.

His uncle nodded.

'Let's not talk about such serious things, shall we?' said Sirius's aunt Gaia carefully after a while. 'How about... how about discussing...'

'The political situation,' said Bellatrix helpfully, earning herself some very surprised looks. 'It requires discussion, don't you think? Or rather - it requires some action. Some action from all of you!'

'Bellatrix,' hissed her father Mercurius quickly, refilling everyone's glass with a wave of his hand. 'We have been talking about... stable rounds, haven't we? This is not the time...'

Sirius noticed a small, but unmistakable side-glance at the Longbottoms, but Bellatrix seemed to have missed it - or she was simply ignoring the hint.

'I do not care about stability,' she snapped. 'I do not care about what you think ought to be said or not. I am sick and tired of everyone's habit of meeting once or twice a year to talk things over and leave it at that. There is things you cannot talk away. And the present situation requires us to leap into action against the course the ministry is taking. We have,' she leaned over the table just slightly, looking into everyone's face, 'to take action against Albus Dumbledore.'

There was a short pause and some clearing of throats.

'Bellatrix, you know what you are saying, don't you?' said her mother Gaia shyly. 'We are talking about Dumbledore here. The most powerful wizard of our time.'

'Is he, now?' spat Bellatrix. 'According to my knowledge everyone just _calls_ him that. no one has yet been able to give me a _reason_ for this view. As far as I could gather, everyone just takes older people's word for it.'

'Will you take my word for it?' said the Cardinal calmly, seeming less enraged about the matter than most of the other family members.

'Not if you do not give me a reason for it!' snarled Bellatrix.

'I shall tell you a little story,' said the old man, looking her in the eyes as calmly as ever. 'Perhaps that'll change your mind about things.'

Everyone came just an inch closer, as great-uncle Ferdinant's stories were usually interesting and a source of great historical accuracy.

'The story of Dumbledore's fame,' said the Cardinal calmly, 'goes all the way back to a time before he was born. As you might have gathered from his name, he is the descendant of a long line of very powerful wizards who once ruled our society with wisdom and deep understanding for people's matters. Before the segregation wars - they were during the 18th century, young Snape, you ought to have covered them at school - before the first of these wars everyone thought Muggles were equal to the wizarding folk - an opinion, which the Dumbledore family holds to the present.'

'Ridiculous,' muttered Sirus's mother. 'There is a reason we went into hiding.'

'That's right,' said the Cardinal, 'and this reason, too, lies with the ancestors of Albus Dumbledore. With his grandmother, in fact, who realised that it was either them or us. We had the choice of ruling the Muggles, destroying them, or going into hiding. The last of the three enabled us to maintain peace. The others would have brought war and destruction. As it happens, however, war and destruction is what the majority of the wizarding community would have chosen to solve the problem, seeing as most of our kind,' he threw a nasty side-glance at Bellatrix, 'seem to overestimate the power that lies in a simple thing like magic. So there was a rebellion and the influence of the Dumbledores ceased.'

'As far as I can see it, they are still at large,' snarled Bellatrix.

'You say that because you have not seen the influence Dumbledore's predecessors had on our community,' said the Cardinal simply. 'You and your generation can only imagine what power and control might mean. You and your generation can only hope not to experience wars of the kind your parents and grandparents have seen. And as it happens' the Cardinal's voice was assuming a slightly dangerous undertone now, 'these wars were both, started and ended by members of the Dumbledore family. They were fought by and over members of the Dumbledore family - personal feuds that endangered our whole kind. Power struggles beyond anyone's imagination. I have _seen_ Albus Dumbledore's defeat of Grimmauld Grindelwald, and I can _assure_ you, Bellatrix, that more powerful a wizard you could not get.'

'But there you go,' said Bellatrix, sounding supremely unimpressed. 'Grimmauld Grindelwald is more or less an ancestor of our family. His forefathers are said to go back to Merlin himself. He was no more a Dumbledore than I am.'

'Aren't you?' said the Cardinal sharply. 'Well, I suppose not, because Grindelwald is not as direct a relative of yours as you might wish. But who do you suppose his mother was?'

There was a short silence.

'I did not know Grindelwald's mother was related to the Dumbledore clan,' said Sirius's mother quietly. 'Are you sure about that, uncle Ferdinant?'

'It was a family feud, for Merlin's sake!' snapped the Cardinal. 'I was there. People have been talking about it for decades. Well... for a decade at least, ever since Hamish McGillivray published his dissertation about recent historical misjudgements. But even in there not all the facts are listed. How could they, when you cannot use a time-turner to travel into your own past? - Not legally, at least? You think people know half of what happened at that time? Well, then ask anyone - ask Hamish McGillivray whether he has heard of Albus Dumbledore's daughter!'

No one spoke now. No one so much as drew a breath until Livia Longbottom started shifting in her seat and Gaia slowly refilled her glass of Black wine.

'Uncle,' she said reluctantly, 'are you quite aware of what you are saying? Dumbledore has no family. If there was a daughter, people would know.'

'Not if he doesn't want them to know,' said the Cardinal sharply. 'Not if the matter is a bit too outdated for most people to remember clearly. Most people who are at large now, that is. I am not saying there _is_ a daughter, but there was. She was killed in the early twenties. Perhaps even before that. Another thing, which is not quite clear. Outwitted and killed, along with her best friend and Secret Keeper. Don't gape like that, Sirius. That kind of expression doesn't look very becoming on you.'

'She was in hiding?' said Sirius disbelievingly. 'And then she was killed?'

'Fidelius is an evil spell,' said the Cardinal coldly. 'Which is why it is so rarely used. Of course, it is highly effective in terms of hiding, but if your Secret Keeper is killed, there is no way for you to be found again, unless people perform a very recently discovered counter-curse on the body... which is hardly possible if it burns, for example - or vanishes.'

He leaned back, once again enjoying the number of baffled looks surrounding him.

'Vanish, did it?' remarked Sirius's father. 'Well, then it shouldn't be too hard to trace it.'

'It has been attempted, I presume,' said the Cardinal. 'But not everyone can be as successful a tracer as you are, Perseus. Everyone considers this person dead, by now, just as everyone considers Maura Dumbledore to be dead and gone these days. Or just gone, but dead or gone hardly makes a difference in her case. And anyway, hardly anyone has the capability of standing up to the kind of isolation the Fidelius Charm bestows upon you for long. It is a horrible fate. I do believe Dumbledore was devastated at the time. But not even he could change the course of things. Well... I suppose he saw the need of killing old Grimmauld to satisfy his longing for revenge -'

Sirius suppressed a cough, trying not to imagine a revenge-thirsty Dumbledore in killing mode.

'- but that was not until many years later, of course,' continued the good Cardinal. 'And it did not change anything, of course.'

'Uncle Ferdinant,' said Gaia quietly after a short silence in which everyone seemed to follow their own thoughts on the matter, 'are you sure _everyone_ believes this Secret Keeper dead?'

To Sirius's great surprise and some of the others', the Cardinal laughed.

'I know what you think, dear,' he said, a mischievous air invading the stunned silence that had spread over the little group of purebloods. 'And you are right. Not - everyone has given up the hope of finding this girl, even if her own father has.'

'You don't mean...' said Livia Longbottom slowly. 'Him? I don't believe it.' She laughed.

'Everyone thinks he is mad,' said Gaia, frowning. 'And he is! Trust me on that. Remember the kilt incident, everyone? That is saying everything, of course. And his whole family is against him in this matter. Well, that is mainly, of course, because she is a M-...' she stopped, a gleam of surprise appearing in her usually rather clouded eyes. 'Ferdinant!' she whispered. 'What person of their right mind would make a Muggle their Secret Keeper?'


	16. Maura Dumbledore

**

Maura Dumbledore

**

'I thought the plan perfect,' said Dumbledore slowly, sitting in his armchair by Minerva's fireplace, his night robes wrapped tightly around his body, a mug of cocoa in one hand. 'When Maura went into hiding, I believed the plan of making her best friend, a Muggle, as yet unknown to the wizarding world, her Secret Keeper to be the perfect solution to all our problems, given that she had refused my proposal to take the job into my own hands. Grindelwald would not have stopped looking for her in _our_ world. And he would not give up until he had found the witch or wizard hiding his greatest enemy...'

At this point, Dumbledore laughed quietly, but without mirth, and wiped his left eye with one swift, instinctive movement of his arm.

'You understand? Enemy. A girl of thirteen years. To an adult wizard, known and feared by most people of his time. But he saw her as an enemy. So I had to protect her. Fidelius was the only way.'

The room had gone very quiet. Neither Mandy nor Emeric, nor Minerva herself were moving now, all sitting in a semicircle around the fire, waiting patiently for the old headmaster to continue his story. Dumbledore sighed. He looked rather downcast by now and Minerva presumed that he had had Firewhiskey beforehand. As every Christmas. Just a drop to kill the pain inside.

'If only ever people would start listening to me when it comes to choosing their Secret Keeper,' he whispered. 'You see - a Secret Keeper cannot be selected against the person's will. A Secret Keeper _must_, under any circumstances, be a person known to and trusted by the one to be hidden. And they must chose their Secret Keeper. They alone.' He sighed and threw an unusually downcast look into his mug, ignoring the steaming liquid in it. 'Maura,' he said after another small while, 'chose Maude.'

'And you thought it was the perfect plan, because she was a Muggle,' said Mandy quietly. 'You thought it was safe.'

'I begged her to let me take the burden,' said Dumbledore tiredly. 'But as I say, people don't listen to me. And I did approve of her choice. Maude was extremely reliable. And on our side. However often we obliviated her, she kept bumping into witches and wizards by accident, and she kept keeping it to herself. So in the end we had stopped obliviating her, because she'd simply turn up somewhere else again sooner or later. I should have foreseen that it was too obvious despite her being a Muggle. She was too close. And, of course, it was always a bit of a gamble against the officials. If they had known...' He hesitated for a while and stared into his mug of cocoa, lost in thought. 'Officially,' he continued after a small while, 'Muggles are not to know about us. The law has remained the same. Only the means have... changed. But we were prepared to take the risk of having her around. And Maura was prepared to take the risk of letting her take the job as her Secret Keeper. She was... an exception. A weapon, unknown to the enemy.'

'What happened?' asked Emeric.

'Several things,' said Dumbledore, now staring into the fireplace again. 'Grindelwald never found out where Maura was, and he did not find out about Maude in the beginning. All he could gather was that Maura had apparently chosen a Muggle as her Secret Keeper, and that it would be almost impossible for him to trace her.'

Minerva gave him a nervous look. She knew the story and knew that the now following part was not something to tell just anyone. But Dumbledore trusted Mandy and Emeric. He had trusted them for years, and there was no reason not to tell them what he knew. In any case, it would not make a difference now. It was just... Minerva shifted uneasily... the headmaster seemed so vulnerable when he told people about his past. And this story in specific was something you could use against him - emotionally. It was not something he liked to be reminded of.

'It is something Minerva reminded me of when yelling at young Robertson tonight,' said Dumbledore, a weak smile flickering over his tired expression. Minerva looked up.

'Me?'

'When you told Rodney that, in your view, soldiers were nothing but how did you put it...?'

'Rule-abiding, authority-obsessed, inconsiderate idiots,' said Minerva coldly. 'I didnae intend to be so rude, but he insulted my family and my beliefs. Besides, there is some truth in it.'

'Certainly,' said the headmaster softly and Minerva realised that he had been trying to make a point. 'What I am trying to say is - your accusations reminded me of the incident when Grindelwald used a certain of these... rule-abiding _people_ to trace Maude for him. I had not had much to do with the wizarding army at that time, and I hadn't... shall we say calculated on them? I knew not just how aware they were of what was happening all around. I had no idea that there were people in this organisation knowing as much about current events as I did. They even knew about Maude. Well - some of them did, at the very least.' He sighed once more. 'I considered myself clever. I was haughty and did not realise that other people might know more than I did. That Grindelwald might use... our own kind against me without them ever knowing it.'

Minerva noticed Mandy giving Emeric a knowing side-glance and sighed in sympathy with the old headmaster. It had been a difficult time for him, she knew. And it had not ended well. Not at all.

'My uncle is still looking for her, ye ken,' she whispered after a short while. 'He disnae think Lance did his job.'

Dumbledore smiled weakly. 'Yes, I have heard he is still out there. Unfortunately, I fear, he is searching in vain. Maude is dead. The reason for me being so sure is that I know Lance very well. There is two things you can say about this man. One, he knows his job and how to do it, and two, everything is a matter of honour. He would not have let Maude off, even _if_ he had known who she was and whom she was hiding. He might have spared her life long enough to settle matters, but he would not have spared her and told everyone he had done his duty afterwards. It is just not his way.'

'His duty?' said Mandy alarmed. 'What on earth do you mean by that?'

Dumbledore looked unhappier than ever. 'The rules were very clear on that matter in those days,' he said quietly. 'Muggles could not know about us. It was a security lack. In those days, if an unregistered Muggle happened to learn the truth about our world the rule was to kill him or her on spot. No exceptions.'

There was a long, stunned silence. Mandy stared at the headmaster in what looked like silent horror, and even Emeric seemed surprised, although the times Dumbledore was talking about were not unfamiliar to him.

'He killed her?' he whispered.

'He did,' said Dumbledore, looking downcast. 'And transformed the body into a single bone, as used to be the custom. Security precaution, you know. As I say - he knows his job, and how to do things properly. He did not, however, know that Maude was Maura's Secret Keeper. Grindelwald used this to his advantage,' he added unhappily. 'He tricked both of us.'

There was another long silence. Mandy, however, shifted uneasily in her chair, and as expected could not keep still for long in this matter.

'It must have been a hard time,' she said carefully. 'And it was certainly a great loss to you, but I wonder why... I mean... I am sure she meant the world to you, but...'

'You cannot see why the life of one person should be so important to a wizard so powerful and dangerous as Grimmauld Grindelwald?' said Dumbledore. 'Well, it has to do with families. Pureblood wizards can be as stubbornly superstitious as the most cut off, conservative Highland farmer.'

Minerva coughed, almost imperceptibly. Mandy grinned.

'The thing is,' said Dumbledore, ignoring his colleagues, 'that there is one or the other belief about people being destined to rule and other people being destined to fight them. The problem being...' he hesitated for a moment, then licked his lips and went on, 'I do not believe in destiny. I do not believe in predestination, prophecies, heroes, miracles - at least not the ones people expect of those heroes -, and I do not believe in fate. If anyone claims it is a Dumbledore's "fate" to rule and to slaughter his own family members till the end of our times, quite frankly, I start wondering whether this person has spent too much time in a pub. Life is not about what we are born to do, but what we choose to make of it,' he said weakly, his eyes assuming a strange glitter behind his half-moon spectacles. His mug was still placed between his hands on his lap, while he seemed to have forgotten all about it. 'It's what I always say. But you all know that, of course.' He looked rather fragile and old for a fraction of a second, so that Minerva and Emeric nodded quickly and Mandy got up, placing an arm around the old headmaster's lilac robes.

'We do,' she said, taking the lukewarm mug out of his hand, carelessly handing it to Minerva who, lost in thoughts, took it and sipped the liquid the headmaster had ignored all evening. 'And we know you tend to be right in such matters.'

Dumbledore smiled, but said nothing. A fraction of a second later, there was a sudden jolt of energy letting everyone in the room jump in surprise and shock. Minerva felt herself shaken and drilled through by warm, soaking beams of light. As if through a veil she saw the headmaster gasp, flick out his wand, pointing it directly at her chest, and heard an incantation as old as the bearded man himself, which made her limps go stiff. She barely managed to look down herself, seeing that she was not seeing anything. Her body was nothing but a glassy substance, which hardened at a worrying speed, her intestines had dissolved into gas. She would have gone pale, if that had been possible at her state, and instead looked up in horror, trying to grasp what was happening.

'Albus...' she said, seeing Mandy collapse on the floor, but that was when the stiffness had reached her neck and everything went suddenly quiet.


	17. Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place II

**

Christmas Dinner at Grimmauld Place II

**

In former years, Severus had always been glad to have his mother join them at Grimmauld Place. He was not quite sure what was different this year, but his father seemed worried about his wife and her present state, so Severus was inclined to believe that there was something severely wrong with her.

However, his mother had insisted on coming, so there was no room for discussion. Severus knew the situation. His father seemed unable to deny the small, pale woman any of her wishes, and the annual Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place was not something you missed twice in a row.

So for the time being Severus had put up his best behaviour, tried to follow the conversation where necessary, and paid constant attention to not doing anything that might bring his mother back into a state where she could get upset or ashamed of him or, in a worst-case-scenario, have another fit.

Severus was afraid of these fits. He was afraid of what they were doing to his mother and worse, almost, what they were doing to his father. He had never before seen the soldier more shaken than this afternoon, when he had sat by his wife's bed for hours, occasionally pressing her hand, trying to get through to her.

Then, when she had recovered again, Severus had accidentally overheard a conversation between the two of them. A slightly... disturbing discussion. He had been sitting on top of the small staircase leading to his room on the first floor while his parents were talking about... things. Severus had not grasped all of it. His mother had said something along the lines of how hard it was to leave everything behind, but how much harder it would be for her, knowing that her husband and son did not get along with each other. She had cried while saying it, so Severus assumed she was talking about another stay at St. Mungo's.

Next to him, Sirius Black was side-glancing derisively while the grown-ups were discussing matters that were of no interest to Severus. He hated the Christmas gatherings, seeing as they consisted of waiting and enduring endless discussions about family relations and attitude - for the most part.

Attitude.

How he hated it. Usually, when people went on about attitude, they were simply not following one rule or the other. Despicable, really, how people could get upset about one another when it came to law and order, and at the same time were looking for loopholes to navigate themselves around... well... around rules.

'Being a Pureblood isn't simply an attitude,' snapped Severus's aunt Gladia, pulling him from his thoughts. 'Don't be ridiculous, Lance. Not everything is about rules.'

'Most things are,' replied her brother darkly. 'Usually, when people stick to rules, problems tend to not occur at all. Especially those of the kind that leads to petty fighting among youngsters.'

'You are underestimating the complexity of society,' said Gladia angrily. 'Obeying rules might be all very well if you are within a military environment, dealing with criminals and magical beasts, but society is about something else.'

'There is enough people in society whom I would call criminals,' said Severus's father coldly. 'And the army is all about dealing with them. We serve the interests of society, Gladia. That is the main idea.'

'Still, the real world is much more complicated than your simplified army hierarchy,' snapped Gladia. 'That kind of behaviour only works with men, my dear. But in the real world, it is the females who -'

'Don't be ridiculous,' interfered her husband. 'That remark is completely out of place.'

'You just know I am right,' replied Gladia. 'Why do you expect people used to fight over Dumbledore's daughter? The female members of his family are the really powerful ones, am I right, uncle Ferdinant?'

The Cardinal inclined his head just slightly. 'Interesting observation,' he remarked. 'There might be a core of truth in it, but I cannot tell for sure. Prophecies have certainly tended to concern the daughters of the family...'

'Prophecies?' said Lucilius disbelievingly. 'Since when do we put our faith in prophecies?'

'It depends on who makes them,' replied the Cardinal sharply, 'and how. The descendants of Cassandra are usually quite trustworthy.'

'The descendants of Cassandra have a _poissonnerie_ near the Ministry of Magic in Paris. And I daresay that it is not quite clear whether their line actually descended...'

'That is so very beside the point, Gladia...'

Severus threw a quick glance at Bellatrix, who was supporting her head with both hands, looking both, annoyed and very bored. After some more talk and fruitless discussion she raised her head again, glared around, and, to Severus's great surprise, the discussion stopped. Several people turned to her.

'You are doing it again,' Bellatrix snarled. 'Fussing over such insignificant matters as Paya Trelawney's heritage. Who cares how far the seer line goes back if their prophecies actually fulfil?'

'But that is the point we are discussing, dear,' said Gaia weakly.

'Yes, exactly!' snarled Bellatrix. 'You keep discussing things! You keep talking about meaningless matters while our world goes to ruin. I still cannot see why Dumbledore should be invincible just because his stupid line has won a few wars. Actually -' a smirk appeared on her face just for a second, 'won and lost at the same time, if I got that correctly. If Grindelwald could be defeated while being of the same blood as Dumbledore, why not bring down the great White One himself? Where is your problem?'

'Don't you get it?' said Severus, driven by a sudden impulse of impatience, seeing as the matter really was not too hard to grasp. 'They have to slay each other.'

His gaze met his father's just briefly, seeking for support in the soldier's expression, but his father just looked at him, his blue eyes never leaving his son's face, not giving away any of his thoughts or emotions, as usual. Severus gulped and trailed off. 'B-because they are just too... powerful... You know. ... It's... it's b-been like that for cen...turies...'

There was a brief silence. Severus looked around awkwardly, suddenly unaware of what had made him utter this statement, well aware that he was not supposed to speak without being addressed. But the subject had been so tiring all of a sudden. And it really was obvious, wasn't it? Why did people have to be so slow on the uptake?

His gaze met Sirius's, who, to his utmost surprise, was grinning broadly at him, and then wandered up to his father again, whose expression was unfathomable, but not angry. Severus suppressed a sigh of relief.

'What you do not seem to understand, young Snape,' said the Cardinal now, 'is that Albus Dumbledore is not to be slain. Not as long as we do not know how many descendants of the family, if only remote ones, there are. Not as long as we cannot be sure that there will be no successor to his... position. He is annoying, misguided, meddlesome and a great burden to most of us, but people like Grimmauld Grindelwald are worse. They endanger our all well-being, because they have, though the right ideas, not the appropriate personality, and certainly not the necessary planning skills to bring their intentions to a useful end. People like Grindelwald cannot rule.'

'And Dumbledore can?' Suddenly, Bellatrix's mother was back to the conversation.

'Gaia, please. Have you been at Hogwarts? Have you seen this man teach or... or give one of his start-of-term speeches for that matter? People love him. Most people. The less... critical ones. And even though they know of the past - or parts of it, they would have elected him as Minister for Magic, had he not refused to take the position. He has an interesting view on that, actually. Wants people to think for themselves. Not do things because he orders them.'

'Mercurius,' said his brother thoughtfully, 'have you ever considered that he might not have taken the position because the headship of Hogwarts bears yet more power? They say he installed Bagnold as Minister for Magic because she will do his bidding without hesitation. She is loyal as can be to the Dumbledore clan - has been for years. Why do you think she keeps visiting Dumbledore in her free time? I say - what Dumbledore wanted in the first place was Hogwarts _and_ the Wizengamot. And by Merlin - he got it.'

'Oh, now you are being overly critical, Perseus, don't you think?'

'I am seeing where the money is, Gladia.'

'As if you had ever known where any money is, my dear.'

'I, at least, know where my loyalty lies.'

'So do I.'

'So do I.'

'So do I.'

Glasses were refilled in friendship. Severus saw Bellatrix accept the wine, though she hardly nipped when people raised their glasses to loyalty. She was wearing a very sour look.

Grown-ups could be very strange, Severus thought. One moment they fought about a matter, the other they were drinking to such an honourable thing as loyalty. He threw his usual, scrutinising look at his mother to see whether she was still with the conversation and, to his great relief, could not make out any signs of discomfort.

Nevertheless, when people rose later the evening to move the table for the more... entertaining part of the evening Severus's father decided that it would be a good idea to grant his wife as much rest as possible, given her earlier fit (not mentioning it to anyone, quite naturally), and bid everyone goodbye, asking Severus to follow him to the fireplace, from which they started off back towards Camden rather earlier than Severus had expected.

* * *

When Lucius Malfoy stepped into the kitchen early in the morning, having only just awoken from a stressful night's sleep, he was not surprised to find the fireplace lit and blazing.

'A call,' he said to himself. 'Let me guess...'

And indeed, a few seconds later a black-haired head appeared in the flames, letting a pair of glittering, black eyes search the room for signs of human life. They stopped when reaching Lucius and a smile spread on Bellatrix's face, of the sort Lucius had learned to respect while she had still been at Hogwarts. Mercurius's daughters were all of a kind you did not want to annoy, and especially not make your life-long enemies. Both, Bellatrix's heavily painted eyelids and her long, severe Black nose gave her an air of cunning and menace which was unusual, even for her branch of the family. Lucius had sometimes wondered when the girl had started building up all the hatred she bore inside and how she managed to keep it all bottled up until she had reached a moment in which she could use it to her advantage. Bellatrix was an animal, Lucius sometimes thought. Wild and incalculable in any of her actions, at any time of the day. Never could Bellatrix Black be controlled or outwitted. It was this quality, for which Lucius adored the girl.

At the moment, though, Perseus's daughter seemed a little impatient and Lucius hurried to step forward and settle down in front of the fireplace to see what she had in store for him. Bellatrix did not lose time.

'The plan failed,' she hissed. 'As you said. It is no used with them. They are just a bunch of jabbering old fools. Too _narrow-minded_ to actually leap into action. They will never join.'

Lucius shrugged. 'Fair enough. We don't need them.'

'Are you insane?' snapped Bellatrix. 'Of course we do! Without their generation on our side - and it is a whole generation we are talking about here - we are nothing but a raging minority trying to push through our own ideas of society, without a chance of success.'

Lucius was honestly surprised. 'Don't you think you are exaggerating just a bit?' he said quietly. 'They are just a handful of adults who like to talk. What difference does it make if they are not on our side? The future belongs to our generation anyway.'

Bellatrix's expression darkened. Dangerously, Lucius noted. She is insane, he thought. She is possessed by her own ideas. And that is all we need. Fanatitic belief in the impossible.

'My father,' said Bellatrix quietly, 'has the Unspeakables in his hands. Lucilius Longbottom is leading the Muggle department. There is Lestranges of their generation all over the Dark Creatures Department and in most breeding farms around London and abroad. Rudolphus's father's cousin is trained and licensed to control the bloody Dementors, and his aunt has alliances with the giants up in the mountains. Serenety's brother Cornelius is Minister for Magic, even though he is still far too influenced by Dumbledore, of course, and the Crouches are still at large in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. Not to forget the Aurors and the bloody army,' she added as an afterthought. 'Do you really think we'll get anywhere without the wizarding army behind us? Personally, I would hate having to fight uncle Perseus. Or uncle Lance.' She shuddered. 'Just imagine.'

Lucius shrugged again. 'I do not intend to fight them,' he said simply. 'You are missing on one crucial point, Bellatrix. Even though they might be disinclined to actually fight, they are not exactly against us either. We might be the only ones taking action, but people will see how much we achieve and join up en masse once they see what our ideas mean for the wizarding world.'

The Black daughter shook her black-haired head slowly, pensively, and eventually said, 'I do not think it will be as easy as that. It is easy enough for you, Lucius. You're still at school. And will be, if the plan goes wrong. But many of us will have to be careful not to destroy their future in this country by taking action against the current rulers. The problem is,' she added after a moment's thought, 'that no one wants to stand up against Dumbledore.'

'Yes,' mumbled Lucius. 'I figured as much. Well,' he said, trying to contribute something useful to the conversation, 'that matter will be settled shortly, won't it?'

Bellatrix grinned. Mirthlessly. 'No discussion of that here,' she said curtly. 'Everything is set then, I take it?'

'Our man must have finished his job by now,' Lucius replied. 'Personally, I am just glad to be out of there while it happens.'

'How is he going to conceal his guilt?' enquired Bellatrix, sounding as rational as before.

'Blame it on a random member of staff, I presume,' said Lucius. 'But I do not know the details. It is better this way, I presume.'

'You know,' said Bellatrix after another while, 'wizards like you is what our world needs. No, really. See you tomorrow.'

And her head vanished from the Malfoy fireplace. Lucius stared after her for a long while, trying to work out whether these last words had been supposed to be ironic or not. Eventually, he decided that this was the case simply because of Bellatrix's disinclination of openly expressing her appreciation for anyone. It was just not her style.

With an air of sulkiness about him, Lucius cleared the fireplace and eventually went upstairs to wake his parents.


	18. A New Year's Beginning

**

A New Year's Beginning

**

Contrary to common belief, even in the wizarding world it did not necessarily snow during Christmas week. Not all the time, at least. And this year, not once. Instead, it had been raining cats and dogs for days. Today there had even been a couple of flashes and some distant thunder, which seemed to be approaching then slowly, but steadily. It was the last evening of the old year and Severus was sitting in the living-room with his father, drinking some hot pumpkin juice, peppered with... well... pepper. The famous 'Honeydukes Salt 'n' Pepper', to be exact. A substance, said to be a mixture of sal ammoniac, rum, and a good bit of magic belonging in the general area of potion brewing, making the drink bubbly, sparkling and changing its taste according to the drinker's current mood.

Severus's father had settled in with a pint of butterbeer and his newspaper and was scanning the Quidditch timetables, obviously not dissatisfied with this week's results. He had come home for New Year's Eve to evade the hustle and bustle of the soldiers' camp down in M'bwa and not to have to expel too many of the youngsters for unauthorised drinking and jinxing superior officers - according to his own description. There were some things one just could not change. And, after all, most of the soldiers down at the camp were recruits or constables. Young, inexperienced, but extremely ambitious - 364 days of the year, Severus's father had told him with a trace of a smirk on his face.

For now, both, father and son had settled over their lecture - Severus had grabbed one of the books on the living-room shelves entitled "Healing Potions A - Z", whereas his father, having finished with his newspaper, had seized a couple of official-looking letters from the table and was scanning them now, bearing almost an amused expression on his face.

Severus looked up every now and then, but his father seemed thoroughly emerged in his letters, so he returned to his lecture after a while, reading a passage about psychopharmacological drugs with interest, wondering what was worse - an illness of the kind described here, or the suggested cure against it. He also started wondering whether this was the kind of treatment the doctors of St Mungo's used on their long-time patients, when they were not treating the occasional, light cases like his mother's fits or, say, an injured Quidditch player.

'What!?'

Severus awoke from his daydreaming at an instant, clearing his face of all thoughts that might be displayed on them and shifted slightly in his chair.

'Hm?'

'What are you looking at?'

'Uhm... I was... lost in thoughts, father.'

'Ah.'

The soldier returned to his letters with an unmoved expression on his face, but looked up again after a short while.

'You haven't been drinking your pumpkin juice, boy.'

Severus side-glanced at the jar in his hand, nodded, and started sipping while his eyes were still fixed on his father's face, carefully looking for traces of displeasure. The soldier, however, watched him with a rare expression of calm and content, laying his letters aside after a short while, and put one leg over the other.

'The celebration was rather enjoyable, wasn't it?' he said, obviously referring to the Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place. 'It seemed far more quiet than usual. More reasonable, too. The general conversation, I mean.'

Severus nodded simply, surprised about his father's sudden inclination of discussing family matters with him.

'And did you notice anything unusual about Mercurius's daughter?' enquired his father. 'She seemed rather... upset.'

'I believe she has a different idea of... politics than her parents have,' said Severus shyly. 'And she seemed annoyed that people weren't listening to her.'

'Oh, but I was listening,' said his father grimly. 'I found most of her ideas quite interesting, to tell the truth. Do you know what becomes of people developing such ideas, Severus? Do you know what becomes of people who question authority and try to wind people up with ideas of rebellion?'

'Yes,' whispered Severus, thinking of his father's office and the blank, never-changing surface of his desk. 'I do.'

'That's because you are educated in the right way,' mumbled his father. 'Other people, on the other hand...' He sighed. 'It is a shame what children of the best families turn out to be at times. Bellatrix is an admirable young woman on the whole, of course, but...' He hesitated, just for a second. 'Well, I know revolutionists when I see them. Meaning, I am afraid I shall have to keep an eye on her. You know - the burden of a twenty-four-hour duty.'

'I thought you said London wasn't your area of responsibility any longer?' said Severus uneasily. His father gave him a side-glance and a brief smile.

'That is true,' he muttered. 'But it is still my duty to prevent crime when it is dancing in front of my nose. As, of course, accounts for everyone,' he said, rather sharply all of a sudden, surveying his son closely along his hooked nose. 'Meaning that, should you come across any interesting news at school you will, of course, tell me about it,' he said sternly. 'Can't have that kind of unduly behaviour start when they are still at Hogwarts, after all.'

Severus nodded. Carefully, his concentration permanently fixed on his father's facial expression, he said, 'But... couldn't I also just tell a teacher?'

'That depends on your choice,' said his father gloomily. 'You can always tell Corp-... Professor Robertson, of course. He is of the trustworthy kind. So, up to a certain degree, is Professor McGonagall.' His expression changed for a short moment, then he had gathered himself again. 'But I advise you not to talk to Professor Dumbledore about such things. He does not understand... certain matters as we do. You have gathered as much from your great-uncle's elucidations, I trust. It does not do to talk to the likes of Dumbledore, or Professor Sprout, or...' He thought for another while. 'Well, I expect Professor Vector might be a good choice,' he said. 'But I seem to know she will have to take a year off due to family matters soon. So it depends on who is going to be the next head of Slytherin.'

Severus was surprised to say the least, but nodded again, very simply, to indicate that he understood. There was a long silence in which his father leaned back, closed his eyes for a while, then opened them again, still looking as if nothing in the world could upset him tonight. A kind of general positive feeling spread throughout the room and Severus started feeling better than he had in years while being in this room - given that he was sitting about six feet away from the feared balcony door.

After some time, he came to be aware of a black-haired figure sitting next to him. Skein still had his freckles, but his appearance seemed to have changed just slightly - perhaps because he was angry, or, Severus thought, bored. In any case, why he had to turn up at this specific moment Severus could only guess. He gave Skein a curious look, but refrained from speaking, knowing instinctively that his father would fail to notice whom he was talking to.

Skein gave him a broad grin and positioned himself on the armchair closest to Severus, surveying his father's expression with an air of interest and cheek around him. Severus closed his eyes briefly, realising that he was getting genuinely worried by the mere presence of his friend. His... not-quite-so-freckled-as-last-time-friend, now he got to have a closer look.

'Why do you look like me?' he thought, and to his great surprise, Skein turned, grinned mischievously, and tied his hair in a ponytail, now looking almost exactly like the image Severus had the pleasure of encountering in the mirror every morning. Only that, as opposed to Severus, Skein looked somewhat smooth and superior. In fact, Severus realised with some disgust, he looked more like Black - only that he was not quite as big, and certainly not as ugly.

'Why, thank you,' said Skein with a scowl, reading Severus's thoughts like a book. 'I appreciate your openness. What are you doing here, hu?'

'Enjoying a quiet evening without trouble,' thought Severus, hoping that Skein would catch the drift without being offended. 'Can you read my mind?' he added as an afterthought.

Skein grinned again. '_You_ could try it,' he said. 'It's easy. Remember that book you nicked from the library in first year?'

Severus frowned. 'I didn't _nick_ it!' he snapped, forgetting to think instead of speaking aloud. His father looked up from his lecture again, frowned slightly, and shook his head.

'Pardon?'

Severus bit his lip. 'Nothing, sir. I'm sorry.'

His father frowned some more, shook his head once more (disapprovingly this time), and went back to his letters. 'Talking nonsense, are you?' he said without looking up again. 'Ah well, it is getting late, of course. Perhaps you are too young after all to stay up and see the fireworks?'

Severus was puzzled. 'Fireworks?'

'Muggles tend to welcome the new year via fireworks,' said his father. 'They can be quite inventive in terms of shape and colour, depending where and when you look for them. I thought you might want to stay up and watch them this year.'

Severus was very puzzled. 'You mean like Bonfire Night?' he said.

His father nodded vaguely. 'Similar, yes.'

'When will it start?' said Severus curiously.

'At midnight,' replied his father sternly. 'What do you expect? At the beginning of the new year, of course.'

Fighting a jolt of excitement, Severus put his book away and looked out of the balcony door, instinctively expecting something to happen every minute now. 'And I can really stay up and see them? Like - stay down here? All the time until it's over?'

His father gave him an odd glance, just for a second, then his face went back to displaying his usual severity. 'Yes, but no longer.'

'Thank you,' whispered Severus, taming his temper with every effort he could muster, refraining from jumping up and doing something similarly stupid. Then, against every instinct, he did get up, took a few steps towards the balcony door and pressed his nose against the glass, staring into the pitch black sky, where the thunder was still rolling, but a couple of stars had appeared between the thick layers of clouds. It was an odd night, he thought. Full of magical silence.

Suddenly (he had been staring into the pitch darkness for quite a while already) he felt something on his shoulder, realising that it was his father's hand, who was now standing behind him, watching the night sky and the movement of the clouds just as Severus had done, his expression one of absent calm and deep emotional involvement. Severus needed some time before he could tear himself from the sight of his father's unusual expression and needed to remind himself to keep looking into the darkness, as to not draw the big man's awareness to the fact that he was being watched.

There was a long, pleasant silence, in which father and son were staring into the darkness outside, not talking, the former's hand permanently placed on the latter's shoulder, as if to reassure him from the gaping abyss in front of the balcony. Or perhaps he was steadying himself, Severus found himself thinking, but dismissed this thought at once. His father, on the other hand, chose this particular moment to place his other hand on Severus's shoulder as well and press it, just slightly, before clearing his throat and stating in a voice that sounded far, far away, 'Sometimes, you know, people start thinking about the future when the new year starts. It is a habit, more than anything. They do, because one thing comes to an end and a fresh one starts.'

Severus nodded. It seemed wrong to reply, so he just kept staring into the darkness, trying not to break this rare moment of peace - even though his father was in such an unusual mood... or maybe _because_ of this very fact. The following silence did not last long.

'I understand that what happened on Christmas morning cannot happen again,' said the soldier eventually, his hands not moving from Severus's shoulder. 'You have learned your lesson, I take it?'

'Yes, father,' said Severus, healthy cautiousness flaming up in the back of his mind again.

'We do not want mother to collapse again, do we?' said his father.

'No, sir,' whispered Severus, and then, reluctantly, 'What _did_ happen to her that night?'

His father hesitated for a moment. 'Well, you know what she is like. Always making too much of a fuss about things, as witches tend to. She doesn't like fighting. I suspect that is what made her collapse. You talking back or shouting is the last thing she needs, being in that fragile state of hers. Meaning it will not happen again. Is that clear?'

'But I wasn't -' began Severus, but stopped at both, his father's expression and his own apprehension. 'Sorry,' he muttered quickly. His father nodded curtly.

'That is what I mean. You realise. Your mother's health is at a worrying state and all you can think of it answer back. But you are not a child any longer. You need to grow up and start doing what you are told. Otherwise the family will break apart. I cannot allow you to endanger her health by fooling around like a ten-year-old. Do you remember what I said about rules back at Grimmauld Place?'

Severus nodded.

'Good. That is the way. Bear them in mind. I have been trying to make our life as simple and straightforward as possible, out of consideration for your mother. Because she will always be the first to suffer from your foolishness if you fail to adapt to the given situation. You know the rules. Obey them and everything will be fine. Understood?'

Severus nodded again. Because what else was there to do? His father pressed his shoulder shortly, approvingly, and then let go very abruptly. Severus heard him retreat and resume his seat in the darker armchair. He did not turn.

'By the way,' said his father brusquely. 'That was an interesting observation about the Dumbledores only ever being defeated by other Dumbledores.'

Severus held his breath.

'An appropriate statement at the appropriate time,' continued his father, holding his hand lazily out towards the bookshelf, causing one of the books to zoom towards him and land in his outstretched hand. 'I was going to state something very similar.' He smiled. Briefly.

Severus hesitated, then nodded again. The tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly and his breathing became more even. 'Yes, sir,' he said happily, realising that this was the long awaited support for putting his thoughts into words during the Christmas Dinner. Somehow, he noticed, he had been waiting for it ever since his father had returned from Africa this time, feeling that something could not be right if he did not have it.

A few minutes later loud banging and shouting appeared from outside and the dark sky was lit with first signs of the new year's first fireworks.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I am going to have to take another little break again. Not an overly long one, but for the following events I would like a little headstart, just to make sure they are going all right. :) Thanks for your interest. I appreciate that for this story I am getting very intelligent reviews almost exclusively. It proves to me that I am writing for the right audience. g

Risi, your observations on the Fidelius Charm are spot-on and your questions are going into exactly the right direction. Unfortunately, though, I cannot answer them right now as it would give away too much, but I promise there is a theory behind it all. And, in fact, a full plotline.


	19. Going Back

**

Going Back

**

The journey back to Hogwarts seemed shorter than it had ever done. Remus had been sitting in his compartment in the back of the train for a few minutes only when Sirius appeared on the other side of the compartment door and stepped in when he spotted his friend inside. The young Black had changed slightly over the holidays. His hair had been cut to reach just under his broad neck and there was the same look of subdued anger in his eyes, which Remus knew only the holidays could put into them.

Against his expectations, however, the first thing Sirius said when the compartment door had closed behind him again and he had slammed himself in the seat opposite Remus was, 'You all right?'

Remus knew he was actually interested. Asking such a thing as a means of politeness was not the way of a Black. He smiled. 'I had an interesting Christmas. A massive turkey from my auntie, lots of presents... well, and full moon on the twenty-sixth, of course.'

Sirius frowned. 'Chiz,' he swore. 'And? How do you feel?'

'Same as ever,' replied Remus casually. 'How was your Christmas Dinner?'

'Odd,' said Sirius truthfully. 'My cousin Bellatrix started some weird attempt of recruiting all the grown ups for her little... well... for something... and the adults just cut her off before she had actually started.' He grinned. 'Well, and lots of stuff. Malfoy wasn't there, thank Merlin. And Snape actually managed to open his mouth once without being crushed by his stupid father. - Pity, really.'

Remus felt inclined to return the taller boy's grin. 'How is Regulus?'

'He is the same stupid git as ever,' mumbled Sirius. 'What did you think?'

'Just wondering,' said Remus quietly. 'Isn't he going to come to Hogwarts next year?'

'If he doesn't get eaten by one of his lice first,' replied Sirius, 'I fear yes. He -'

The compartment door was torn open and a giggling, very out-of-breath Peter hurled in, slamming himself onto the seat next to Sirius, pressing himself against the much taller boy, actually hiding away under Sirius's broad arm, not stopping to pant and laugh all the way through. Only seconds later James appeared in the door, panting as well, looking as excited as his friend, only not quite as harassed.

'Where is he?' He spotted the Pettigrew within seconds. 'Ah.'

From under his robes, James pulled a device, which looked a bit like a Muggle water-pistol, Remus found, but it was smaller and looked like something you would obtain from Zonko's joke shop down in Hogsmeade. Sirius and Remus jumped up at the same time, trying to escape the line of fire. Because like fire it looked what came out of the small plastic device in James's hands.

'PUT THAT THING AWAY!' roared Sirius, having taken refugee behind Remus's large trunk. 'WHAT THE HECK TO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING??'

'Playing,' grinned James, aiming, and pulled the trigger.

He hit both, Sirius and Remus with a beam from the tip of his "gun" and Remus had the odd sensation of drowning in a sea of pebbles. Then his skin started prickling unbearably and he lost control of both legs beneath him.

'Stop it! Stop it!' he panted, torn between laughing and screaming. 'What are you doing?'

Sirius jumped forward and tore the pistol off James's hands.

'What the bloody... Merlin is that?' he snarled. 'I ought to destroy it straight away.'

'It is a magic converter,' said James dryly, making no attempt of re-obtaining his little toy. 'A children's device. My mother gave it to me. Apparently, she and her brother used it when they were small. It's just a toy, Sirius. No need to wet yourself.'

'It looks obscenely dangerous,' remarked the Black. 'A magic converter? What does it do? It feels just like a primitive tickle spell. Just a bit rough in comparison.'

'It draws your magic from you,' grinned James. 'Don't look like that. It's not dangerous. You know how your magic is inside every inch of your body, no matter what you do? Well, it's a bit like a weak magnet. It tries to separate you from your magic. But that isn't possible, as you should know, so it just tickles a bit. Depending on how much intrusion you allow.'

'Insane,' said Remus weakly.

'Brilliant,' grinned Sirius, seeming fully reassured now that he knew the source of his unwell-being, while the magic converter was still pointed at his chest. He took a closer look at the device and found a few levers. 'What are those for?'

'They do the actual converting if you choose one of the other functions,' said James smugly. 'This one's for turning your magic upside down for a short while. Every spell you cast will backfire or,' he pointed at another lever, grinning, 'have the opposite of the desired effect.'

Sirius laughed loudly. 'That is excellent!,' he stated, taking a closer look at James's large trunk now. 'The best Christmas present ever. What else did you get?'

James's expression suddenly assumed an odd glitter, Remus noticed. The Auror's son had another treat for them in store, but seemed not quite ready to give it away just yet.

'I'll show you at Hogwarts,' he said eventually, looking around with a secretive air about him. 'It is too risky on the train.'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. '_Now_ I'm curious,' he said sarcastically. 'Well then, what are we going to spend the ride with?'

Minutes later, all four boys were strolling along the train's corridor, peering in every compartment in search for trouble. Remus knew they were looking for trouble, because he had seen these looks on James's and Sirius's faces before. This kind of expression usually meant that for someone the day would soon cease to be enjoyable. Also, the magic-converter behind James's back gave Remus the strange feeling that they were breaking the school rules before having even arrived. He was not quite sure whether he liked this situation or not, but he had to admit that it was certainly exciting, as Peter pointed out in a whisper.

Halfway down the train, a group of unfortunate Slytherin first-years crossed their way and Remus could see the effect of the magic converter from an outsider's perspective for the first time. It was certainly a very worthwhile view. Against Remus's expectations, you could actually see the magic being dragged out of people. It had all sorts of colours and actual shapes, their variety depending on the person's character and, it seemed, magical talent. One of the smaller boys appeared to have a whole animal in him, but its shape was blurred and there was no colour around it.

Remus suddenly wondered whether his magic took, perhaps, the shape of a werewolf when the converter was pointed at him. He was about to ask James when, quite unexpectedly, Severus Snape turned up from behind the door leading to the next carriage. He was looking for something, apparently, and not overly pleased to find his four archenemies lined up in front of him in a corridor almost too narrow for two people to pass each other.

'Hey Snivelly,' said James casually. 'Had a nice Christmas?'

Snape looked at him for a while, then nodded. 'Yes, thank you,' he said, his face remaining entirely unfathomable. 'You?'

James seemed taken aback. Peter grinned, and Sirius checked whether James was hiding some sort of personality converter under his robes with a light slap on the latter's chest. Remus laughed quietly.

'What's wrong with you, Snivellus?' said James derisively. 'Learned to lie low, have you?'

Snape did not reply. He gave James a look full of pure loathing and, in a jolt of sudden daring, tried to push his way through, shoving Sirius and Remus aside. James was not pleased.

'Hey,' he said. 'I am talking to you, chizpurfle!'

'But I am not talking to you, scum,' replied Snape, just loud enough for Sirius and Remus to hear. Within seconds he was pinned against an empty compartment's door by the much bigger Sirius, while Remus was taking a step backwards, feeling his eyebrows draw together in concentration. He was not quite sure what was wrong, but he suddenly had to think of his own time at the Muggle primary school at Mull and at an especially nasty boy in one of the higher classes, who had kept taunting him even when he had been doing nothing but sitting peacefully in a corner, reading one of his books.

Snape squealed.

'Take your paws off me, Potions genius!' he snarled at Sirius, making Remus frown and look up in surprise. Potions genius? Had he missed something?

'Look who's talking!' hissed Sirius, pressing Snape even more firmly against the compartment door. 'You couldn't brew a proper potion if your life depended on it! Even Professor Robertson says so.'

'Well,' said Snape, an unpleasant sneer appearing at his gaunt face while trying to shake Sirius's fists off, 'I am not the one heading for an "academic career", am I?'

Sirius tightened his grip, letting Snape's greasy head bang sharply against the windowpane. Remus felt that the small Slytherin had hit home with this last remark, but was nevertheless at a loss what exactly was going on between the two.

'You stinking idiot,' snarled Sirius. 'You little piece of Slytherin scum dare make fun of what I tell our stupid relatives? When your father is convinced you'll join his stupid army with that non-existent flying ability of yours? I should be rather _worried_ if I were you. There is hardly three years to go till the basic training, after all!'

'Don't you think that will be a problem!' snarled Snape. 'Anyone can learn how to fly. But I shall be interested to see you convince your parents to let you go into Potions.' He grinned again. Sirius's expression twisted slightly as if being about to hit him in the face. Remus hesitated shortly, then put his hand on the taller boy's shoulder rather reluctantly.

'C'mon, Sirius,' he said quietly. 'Let's go.'

Sirius turned. His face had gone red and his eyebrows were almost meeting above his nose. He did seem angry, making Remus gulp and take a small step backwards against James, who was also looking slightly worried now. Sirius ignored them and turned back to Snape.

'You think you are so clever, do you?' he hissed. 'You think you are a cut above the rest of us, just because a few teachers seem to have taken a liking to you last year. But Professor Robertson is a lot more competent than bloody Jones. I bet you don't even pass the exam, because he's asking for real skill!'

Snape made a furious movement towards him, but Sirius was still pinning him against the window, so Snape's hands brushed Sirius's robes only. The latter grinned, mirthlessly.

'I suggest we make that a bet,' he hissed. 'Whoever gets the better mark for that essay on shape shifting theory has to tell his parents that he isn't going to join the army.' He grinned. Snape frowned.

'Do you think me stupid?' he hissed. 'That's easy enough for you, isn't it? You'll come off winning in any case. _Your_ parents don't care about what you do these days. They'll just ask you to do whatever you please if you tell them you won't join up.'

Sirius gave him a derisive grin. 'Afraid, are you?'

Snape hissed. 'Let's see you tell _my_ father you're not going to join up. Let's see you put the wizarding army down in front of _him_. I'd die for the sight of what he'd do to you, you know.'

Remus saw Sirius's hand open and close convulsively, as though he was about to hit the smaller boy, which was probably the case. He sighed and patted Sirius's shoulder again in an attempt to calm him down.

'C'mon,' he said again. 'He's not worth the trouble.'

Sirius gave him an angry snort. 'I will not have this spineless piece of filth tell me I don't have the guts to stand up to his bloody father!'

'It doesn't matter,' said Remus calmly. 'Who cares whom you could stand up to if you got the chance? Better not pick fights for no real reason, hm?'

'Are you siding with him?' snarled Sirius.

'I am trying to end this,' said Remus, suddenly feeling a bit awkward in the position of the mediator. 'Please, Sirius.'

'I'm telling you what,' snarled Sirius. 'The day this one here can prove that he is not the stupid, cowardly git everyone takes him for, the day he proves to me that he has indeed all the spine he always _pretends_ to have...' he turned, glaring directly into Snape's eyes, 'that will be the day when I walk up to your father, telling him to shove his stupid army where the stupid son doesn't shine! Got that?'

And he let go. Roughly, making Snape gasp and grab his throat before retreating quickly. All four Gryffindors had realised instantly that his was the end of the matter and James did not even make an attempt of raising his newly acquired toy again. Instead, he stared at Sirius, puzzled, but exceedingly curious about what had been going on. They entered the empty compartment, all more or less openly scrutinising Sirius's expression until the young Pureblood lost his patience, slammed himself into one of the seats by the window and crossed his arms. 'Well? What!' he said indignantly, returning their looks with a challenging glitter in his eyes. 'Got any questions?'

'Several,' said Remus.

'First, what was that all about?' prompted James.

'Second, why do you keep letting him wind you up,' added Remus in a quiet voice.

'And what the heck did he mean by "basic training"?' said Peter gloomily.

James gave him a marvelling look. 'Come on!' he said. 'You do know what the basic training for the army is, don't you? Flying and Tracing and that sort of thing? You do know that practically everyone is doing it in preparation for a soldier's or an Auror's career?'

'Gotta be excellent for doing the Auror's career, though,' remarked Remus. They are not taking just anyone.'

'You have to be excellent to be taken on as a soldier as well,' said James. 'As I say - everyone's doing the basic training, but less than two percent are taken. And of those, more than forty percent give up during the first few months of the actual drill. It is said to be the hardest job ever. But very well paid.'

'Why is everyone doing it?' asked Peter curiously. 'I have never heard of it, although I am Pureblood. Technically,' he added as an afterthought.

'Well, your parents would have realised it was useless with you from the start,' remarked Sirius dryly. James grinned.

'Don't be like that,' said Peter defiantly. 'I have a lot of hidden qualities. Mother keeps stressing it.'

'Your mother keeps stressing other things as well,' said James grumpily. 'People's nerves, for instance.'

Sirius laughed.

'Oh look!' he said. 'We've passed the northern magical barrier already. The train's going at normal speed.

Normal speed was what the train assumed once it had left the Muggle railway line and was heading towards the wizarding part of the world, Remus had learned. Although personally he had the theory that the train was never actually visible for Muggles at all, he found the idea that there were magical barriers all over the place quite alarming, considering what he knew they could do to him during his... vulnerable time.

He looked up and noticed that he was standing alone in the corridor, seeing as James, Sirius and Peter were all clinging to the nearest window, each in their own very individual way, staring into the rising semidarkness outside, each going after their own individual interest.

'Too late for the tickling, I guess,' said James, sounding disappointed, both his hands resting on the right and upper window frame.

'Wonder if the Hogwarts Express is faster than a Portkey,' remarked Peter, squashing his nose against the pane. 'Everything's rushing past so quickly.'

'No, it's not,' snapped James indignantly. '_You're_ the one rushing. Or the train, at least. Besides, there is much more worthwhile things to know that how fast a Portkey's going.'

'Such as?'

'I wonder if those fleecy clouds out there are as tasty as they look,' came an absent-minded voice from above them, belonging to Sirius, who was licking his lips while staring down through the window from the luggage rack. Remus wondered for a second how he had managed to climb up there - or for what reason, come to think of it. Then he stepped behind James quietly, placing one hand on the Potter's shoulder, the other one on Peter's and said, using the same matter-of-factly voice as they had: 'It's going to be full-moon tonight.

All three boys jumped. There was an embarrassed silence.

When realising that he was having them on, Sirius's expression changed into a broad grin, while James's was one of slight irritation.

'Very funny,' he snapped, exchanging a nervous glance with Peter. 'Stop giving me such frights, moon-howler!'

Remus decided not to take this remark personally and, as far as one could claim such a thing with Sirius and James around, enjoyed an uneventful rest of the journey.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I keep getting into trouble with my writing, time-wise. Well then, the plan is made, only the actual storytelling needs to be done. Not at any point during the next days, though. It is a week of Glasgow for me now. cavort  
Thanks to all those who reviewed and are still interested. I find it hard to maintain people's interest in sequels, but I am doing my best not to give too many tibids at once that mean nothing but wait to be resolved. :) 


	20. A Presumed Mistake

**

A Presumed Mistake

**

Investigations were continuing.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his chair in his office asleep, dreaming that he was sitting in his chair in his office asleep. It was quite a pleasant dream, actually. The worries of the past weeks had stopped slowly, gradually pestering his tired mind and for the first time in days he had been able to close his eyes to catch some well-deserved rest.

In the corner of the room beside a wardrobe on a small cupboard his Pensieve was standing, illuminated only by the feeble light of the silvery substance inside. He had been dealing with it all day searching for significant points in his memories for the very clue that would lead him to who had cursed his Deputy Headmistress and why.

Minerva's general state had not changed much since she had been transferred to the hospital wing and in spite of a very worried, extremely involved Poppy Pomfrey they had not been able to get behind the events of the night when she had nearly been killed.

Albus had gone through the whole matter in his head, again and again. It was frankly impossible that someone had jinxed her from any point in the room. The wardrobe had been empty. Invisibility Cloaks could not fool Albus's Disillusionment Charms. The window was sealed with a number of very nasty Transfiguration spells if he knew anything about Minerva McGonagall's safety standards. So the culprit had to be one of them. One of the four teachers in the room. And that was impossible.

Before the start of term, Albus had had a lengthy conversation with Lance Snape, one of the current Lieutenants and Captain-to-be within the area around M'bwa. He had not trusted Rodney Robertson, to be quite frank, due to the events on the Isle of Mull a few years ago, involving Remus Lupin and his parents, in which the Robertson family had played a rather discreditable role, and which had not brought about any satisfying clarification up to the present day. But Lance had assured his old friend that there was no danger in giving young Robertson the position of the Potions master, due to the fact that he had not grown up with his parents, but with his elderly grandmother. And Albus had changed his mind, gradually, about the youngest member of the family responsible for the werewolf attack of so many years ago.

It had been the right decision. He knew it had. Rodney Robertson's mind had told him the truth. For the most part, quite ironically, it was completely blank, except for the occasional superficial emotion. But that was normal for young men of his age, was it not? Especially soldiers. Especially the soldiers of the wizarding army down in M'bwa or the Central Camp. Robertson's mind had been as soldier-like as any. Straightforward, orderly, very blank. Too blank, perhaps?

Certainly Albus knew that breaking into a person's mind without their consent and without more than an actual suspicion was strictly against the wizarding law, but he had to provide for the safety of his students. Hogwarts safety came before anything, especially at times like this when people were going crazy about blood lines like in the old days.

Very worrying, in fact, Albus thought, that people should start behaving _exactly_ like in the old days again without consideration of the consequences. The generation of Lance, for example, and his currently handicapped Deputy Headmistress had _seen_ the war. They _knew_ what was the outcome of haughtiness and deliberate ignorance. Had experienced one loss at least in practically every family.

Albus snored in his sleep and turned. This woke him up. He blinked, then lifted his chest from the desktop, giving his Phoenix a weary look, and stood up, prowling up and down his office, occasionally throwing thoughtful looks at his Pensieve, which was simmering quietly now he had woken up from his slumber and was diving into critical thinking again.

Rodney. The youngest member of the Robertson family. The person Lance Snape trusted. Then again, could Lance be trusted? Could anyone?

Things were becoming rather hairy these days. Times in which a Deputy Headmistress just suddenly turned into a ghost, in spite of not having performed the ritual, could not be considered safe. Albus sighed and stopped prowling. He looked around once again, patted Fawkes's shimmering plumage, and eventually stepped out of the office into the silent hallway. The whole of the castle was asleep. Except for the occasional student sneaking into the kitchen for a mug of hot chocolate. Or the teacher on night watch trying to prevent it.

Today would have been Minerva's turn, had she not met such an undesirable fate. Had he, Albus, not missed a crucial point that had almost led to her destruction. In a sudden jolt of shame the headmaster put his hands before his eyes and massaged his temples shortly before looking up again.

He was looking in the eyes of the very person he had been thinking about all night.

'Headmaster,' came the young man's quiet voice out of the semidarkness. 'I didn't think you were still up.'

'I fell asleep on my desk,' said Albus quietly, surveying Robertson closely through his half-moon spectacles. 'What are you doing in the corridors at night?'

'I was worried about Professor McGonagall's well-being,' was the simple reply.

'She will be well again in no time,' said Albus, not knowing what made him utter this statement.

Robertson nodded. 'So I hope.'

'You have been to see her?'

'Not yet,' replied Robertson.

'You have chosen the wrong direction then,' said Albus, as quietly as before, careful not to let his voice assume a suspicious note. 'The hospital wing is this way.'

Robertson looked surprised. Then nodded. 'I remember.'

Within moments they had reached their destination and Albus took a few long steps towards Minerva's bed. What he had feared turned out to be true. She was paler than before and what was still human about her was sweating slightly. Her forehead was gleaming and with all her might she was wriggling around on her mattress. Obviously in pain.

Albus turned, not bothering to draw his wand, and grabbed Robertson's throat with one hand, pressing lightly.

'What did you give her?'

It was an order rather than a question. His Potions master gave him a surprised look and turned very pale, starting to choke. He had not calculated on this, very obviously, and needed some time before he found a suitable answer to give.

'What?'

'You have been in here! Do not take me for a fool, Rodney Robertson! You came to finish what you have started, but I will not let you kill my Deputy Headmistress. What did you give her!'

'I just told you I haven't yet entered the hospital wing,' choked Robertson. 'What are you saying, Headmaster! You should _know_ it wasn't me!'

His voice sounded desperate now. Albus pierced his eyes with one look and broke, without much care, into the man's mind. The usual surprising emptiness inside made his blood curl and with equal desperation as the man before him he started looking for any signs of an Occlumency barrier.

But there were none.

At this moment, the hospital wing doors opened and Madame Pomfrey entered the room. Albus could sense her presence and withdrew quickly from the younger man's mind, knowing that he had gone too far. Had let his caution slip, as it should not happen to a wizard of his powers. Robertson was staring at him, wide-eyed, and so was the nurse. For a fraction of a second, Albus had the impression that the only traitor in this room was standing in front of Robertson at the moment. Then he let go of the younger man's throat. Robertson gasped. And so did Madame Pomfrey.

'May I ask what is going on, headmaster?'

Albus made for a reply, thought about it for a second, then lowered his hands and shook his head helplessly before throwing a very pained look at Minerva. Madame Pomfrey followed his gaze.

'She isn't too well again,' she said quietly, approaching the deputy headmistress in a swift movement, placing one hand on her forehead. 'Has been like this all night. I wonder whether the potion I gave her was quite the right choice. But it is ever so hard to decide...'

Albus stared at her. Then turned to his Potions master.

The latter did not move for some time. 'If you allow, Madame Pomfrey,' he said eventually, then turning to Albus, 'headmaster, I will floo to St. Mungo's and see if they have any suitable suggestions. I daresay their knowledge and experience will be of help.'

The nurse nodded. 'That might be a wise idea indeed. Avoid speaking to Dr. Topaz McGonagall, though. He is ever so meddlesome when it comes to his ex-wife. I can too well imagine him paying a visit in the middle of the night, trying to throw in some advise. Ha! With me beating him in every anatomy exam from first to seventh level...'

Robertson rolled his eyes and then threw a cold, almost pitying look at the old headmaster as if waiting for his admission. Albus nodded weakly after a while. Meant to say something, but changed his mind yet again. The situation was worse than any he had experienced in years.

Robertson nodded back at him, lightly, and then vanished from the hospital wing in his usual swift walk.

Madame Pomfrey bent over the lifeless body of Minerva McGonagall, heaved a big sigh and eventually said, not looking up while speaking, 'I know what it is like, headmaster. One cannot be careful enough these days. Then again, whom can you trust if not your own judgement?'


	21. Unexpected Events

**

Unexpected Events

**

Towards the end of the month Sirius started gathering information about the subjects Hogwarts was offering its third-year students. He had been thinking about this topic ever since in his first year he had come across a rather interesting book, which, unfortunately, had almost completely been written in German.

But he had found that he had a knack for languages. Most foreigners, he had discovered, were simply using different words for a perfectly English idea. 'Bantering', for example. Or 'wit'. In consequence (and Sirius was rather proud of himself for having worked this out all by himself), all you had to do was learning long lists of words by heart (plus their meaning in English) and tie them together in the end. Of course, there were words you just could not translate. Spells, for example, tended to do the most interesting things if you tried to transfer their meaning (should they have any) into another language. He had living proof for that, locked away carefully in one of the kennels behind Hagrid's hut.

Also, he had found, most names and technical terms stayed just the same in any language. Quidditch, for example seemed to be the same almost everywhere (not in Dutch, though, but then again - who spoke Dutch these days?). The same seemed to account for the old term for Pureblood, _Sanguispurus_. Then again, the word was practically Latin, so it made sense.

Sirius was quite certain that learning all human languages would just be a matter of time, so he had started off with those he found particularly interesting (German, for example, and French) and those, which he would definitely not be learning at school whichever turn the reorganisation of the language department was going to take - such as Occitan and Welsh.

On Remus Lupin's remark that he could not possibly learn all the languages in the world, seeing as there were a) too many of them and b) several dialects in each language so that you could not even establish the term 'language' as such, Sirius could only smile. For what could someone know who was growing up on the most deserted of all Scottish Islands? (Presumably.) Remus would be surprised to see what you could do if you really put some effort in it.

The fact that James and Peter were also against him in this matter seemed almost natural. Slightly disturbing if anything. Their criticism at least was not as off-putting as McGonagall's laughing fit the year before.

'Genius aye finds itself a century too early,' she had remarked absently while shuffling around on her desk, leaving him under the impression that she was not taking him quite seriously.

Since the new year had started, he noted not without worry, she had not turned up once. And now, four weeks after the beginning of term, people were getting slightly uneasy about the unusual situation, seeing as Professor Dumbledore refused to hire a substitute teacher due to "inner safety reasons". But she was alive, he assured Sirius and James after the boys' fifth enquiry, this time with a little edge to his voice, which proved that even Dumbledore's patience had a limit to it.

They had refrained from asking again.

Apart from the welcome lack of Transfiguration lessons, not much had changed over the holidays. The weather was still as unpleasant as ever (the Hogwarts grounds were covered in a kind of mud-snow mixture, which pleased the younger and annoyed the older students), homework preparation had been moved to a later time again, as was custom so shortly before the beginning of spring time, and the students were asked to restrict their outdoor activities to Quidditch and the occasional Hogsmeade visit.

Sirius felt that something unusual was going on, but he could not quite put his finger on it. The teachers were all much more alert than usual. Cheating during prep times became the most dangerous of all free-time activities, although misbehaving students was clearly not what Professor Sprout was paying attention to when glancing absently through the larger plants' leaves of greenhouse three, all concentration fixed upon the surrounding grounds instead of what was going on in class. People were frightened, Sirius realised, and not without reason, if what they said about McGonagall's whereabouts was true.

'I hear she's b-been taken to St. Mungo's,' Balbina informed Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter on a quiet late-January evening in Gryffindor tower. 'Sh-she's not well. I'm not sure it isn't l-life-threatening. Th-then again, Professor Vector says her c-condition's largely t-transparent. So I figure it c-can't be t-too bad.'

'Professor Vector's a sarcastic twit,' replied Sirius. 'And she hates Gryffindors.'

'She's friends with McGonagall,' remarked James. 'And she hates Slytherins as well. You seen how she treats her own students?'

'Well, she's of the old kind, isn't she?' said Sirius grumpily. 'They're all tarred with the same brush, those pure-blood Slytherins. Especially her generation.'

'Well, you would know,' remarked Remus carefully. 'It's not as if ninety percent aren't related to you one way or the other.'

'Oh, shut up,' said Sirius grumpily. 'Shows that I know what I'm talking about. Besides, that is _my_ pencil case you're chewing on, Remus. I strongly advise you to quit that.'

'Sorry,' was the quick answer. 'It's...'

'...full-moon in a few days time. I know,' snapped Sirius. 'No need to... ARGH! _LOOK!_ That quill was _brandnew!'_

James let out a snort of laughter and flung himself back in his chair. 'That's the one _you_ chewed, Siri. When you wrote that letter to -'

'Shut up!' hissed Sirius, not quite as quickly as he might have liked. But their little chat was interrupted by the evening call anyway and the topic did not come up again.

All in all, Sirius found that there was less and less time left for chatting with other students between classes, seeing as the workload most subjects provided the second year students with increased by the day. One evening, however, directly after the half term break, James finally revealed the secret of his other Christmas present to his friends. As usual, the moment he chose was one of those post-midnight, students-are-to-remain-in-bed-under-any-circumstances ones. Sirius had just decided to leave the rest of his book (_'An Advanced Guide to the Care of Hippogriffs'_) till tomorrow and go to sleep when James and Peter returned from the commons, obviously high-spirited and in the mood of mischief. Sirius sat up at once and looked around searchingly.

'Remus off counting his claws again?'

James grinned. 'Don't be rude, he said. 'C'mon, I need you to see something we have just discovered.'

And at this statement, Remus's head appeared in mid-air, a few inches away from Sirius's face. Sirius jumped.

'Gaaa! He's... he's...'

'Invisible,' said James impatiently. 'I told you the converter was not the only thing my parents gave me for Christmas, didn't I?'

Sirius hesitated, then grinned. 'And good thing, too, seeing as you managed to get it confiscated within two weeks of term,' he stated. 'So, where's the trick?'

'It is an Invisibility Cloak,' replied James lazily. 'My father's. A family heirloom.'

Sirius's eyes widened. 'No, seriously? You mean a real Invisibility Cloak? No fake?'

'No fake,' said Remus, pulling a dirty, plain-looking cloak off his body, appearing again in full shape and size. Peter giggled.

'Wow!' was all Sirius managed. 'Give it to me. Let me have a go!'

'Not now,' said James as impatiently as before. 'There is something I need you to see. That's why I got the cloak out in the first place. Now _come on!_ No one will catch us if we're not visible! Curfew's not something we need to mind any longer.'

Sirius got to his feet. Within minutes the four boys had managed to wrap the cloak around the whole of their four bodies, convince the Fat Lady to open the portrait hole to thin air (Remus had been glad to point out that even thin air had the right to enter or exit the commons if it had the right password at hand) walk through several rather long corridors, and pass the caretaker with his filthy cat, completely unseen.

Sirius was in awe. They passed classroom doors and windows, torches and more classroom doors, and finally turned into a corridor which Sirius had never seen in his life. It was leading down, even though he had figured they were already on dungeon level, but James seemed to know where he was going, so he did not speak. The passageway opened into yet another corridor, as dark as the previous ones, which gave Sirius the impression that it was never used by anyone, not even Mr. Filch or Mrs. Norris. When they reached the last vault on the right hand side of this corridor James stopped so abruptly that Peter stepped on Remus's foot, who could suppress a squeal only by grabbing the edge of Sirius's robes.

'Shush!' hissed James, causing Sirius to angrily brush the cloak off his face.

'Where are we?' he snapped back.

The outlines of James's face appeared from under the cloak and, one after another, Remus's and Peters.

'This,' said James, 'is the door of a secret lab. Peter and I discovered it the other night when you were busy reading and Remus seeing his "auntie". We think it belongs to one of the teachers. Let me show you...'

He drew his wand and tapped the handle lightly. '_Alohomora,_' he whispered, causing the door to open slowly, reluctantly, with a small creak.

Very quickly, all four boys slid into the room, which indeed presented them with what seemed to be the contents of a very small potions lab. Potions on an advanced level, without a doubt.

'Well,' said James eagerly, watching his friend's expression as he did, 'what d'you say? Isn't this great? We have solved the mystery of Professor McGonagall's current state!'

Sirius gaze glided over the various shelves and tables and eventually came to a halt at the large, black cauldron that was hanging over a small artificial fireplace in front of the narrow desk.

'What are you saying?' he said slowly, not grasping because he was not quite sure yet whether he wanted to grasp such a thing.

'Well, just look at the ingredients,' said Remus helpfully. 'They are all used for advanced potions like veritasera or antidotes. Well, or poisons,' he added as an afterthought. 'I reckon that Professor McGonagall was poisoned, and that the poison was brewed in here. Look, there is even some anti-bezoar liquid in that bottle.'

James nodded avidly. 'Remus is right,' he said, looking at Sirius as if trying to convince him of their friend's every word. 'I bet it's Robertson trying to infiltrate the school by wiping out its head staff.'

'You are an ass,' said Sirius quietly. 'There's no way Robertson could have done this. He really is far too much of an idiot to -...'

But that was as far as he came, because the door behind them opened and the dark outlines of a grown-up appeared against the light of the torches from behind. The person was standing upright, hands on both hips, one of them closed around what looked unmistakably like the handle of a wand. Sirius's eyes widened in horror.

'Robertson!' he hissed, unable to stop himself and at the same time the tip of the person's wand lit, showing indeed the very person they had been discussing, looking very angry and, Sirius thought, slightly worried.

'Sirius Black. Not a surprise.'

James cleared his throat. 'We... uhm... haven't really seen anything,' he said awkwardly. 'If you let us go back to the commons no one ever needs to know about this.'

Professor Robertson's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'What are you saying, boy?' he snapped. 'Do you take me for an idiot just because I am younger than the average teacher? Who do you think you are talking to?'

'Really, sir,' said Peter timidly. 'We only came across this room by accident. We had no idea you were brewing illegal potions in here.'

Robertson stared at him for a while. Sirius could have kicked the smaller boy, but he knew instinctively that this would make matters worse for them. Robertson let his gaze wander over the contents of his lab, then over Remus, and halted at James and Sirius again at last.

'Students out of bed is against the school rules,' he said eventually, sounding slightly irritated, but very firm. 'You four will be punished. What is that?'

Sirius saw James's face lose all its colour as Robertson pointed at the Invisibility Cloak.

'My old bathrobe,' he quickly said, sparing his friend an answer, snatching the cloak before Robertson could. 'It's cold in the corridors at night.'

The Professor's eyes narrowed slightly. 'So it is,' he said slowly, leaving the cloak to Sirius, and turned to James and Remus eventually. 'I shall see to that you all get to know the thrashing vault from inside,' he hissed. 'Roaming the corridors at this time of the night is the worst you can do these days. Report to me in the morning after prep time and go to bed quietly now. Move!'

He grabbed James's and Remus's ear and half shoved them out of the room. Sirius gave him a startled look, but hurried to follow his friends into the cold corridor again. Peter met the unfortunate fate of the slowest to receive a slap on the back of his head, before all four hurried along the corridor in the given direction, finding out that from the other side of the corridor, it was only a few steps to the Potions master's private quarters and only a classroom's length to the entrance of the Slytherin common room.

When they reached Gryffindor tower and their dormitory (not bothering to cram under the Invisibility Cloak again this time) all their eagerness for adventures had completely vanished.

'The thrashing vault,' whispered Remus unhappily. 'My parents will kill me.'

'If Robertson doesn't do it first,' mumbled James from his four-poster in the back. 'I hear that canings are no fun.'

'He won't do that. He can't,' snarled Sirius impatiently. 'We have discovered his secret. Punishing us will provoke questions. And I swear to you, I will accuse him in front of the whole school if he so much as lays a finger on me.'

'Sirius,' said Remus pensively, 'are you sure this is his lab? What if we are mistaken? What if he doesn't care that we have discovered the lab because he had nothing to do with it?'

Sirius gave him a dangerous side-glance, which he usually preserved for Regulus, but changed his expression at the realisation of what Remus was talking about.

'Then,' he said quite earnestly, 'we'll have to find out who else is using that room.'

* * *

**Author's Note:** Again, many, many thanks for your inspiring reviews. Excellent questions, Risi. Exactly the right ones, too. Moth, Lance is being promoted all the time. That happens to soldiers who are as excellent as he is.  
Some of you might be wondering why I came up with a wizarding army at all, seeing as there is nothing of the sort in the books. But my Snape family tradition is vital to the various strings of plot I am planning to put together in future chapters/years. As you might have gathered Rodney Robertson is part of this background, and so is Mr. Lupin. 


	22. Further Trouble

**

Further Trouble

**

The day started off just like any mid-February day at Hogwarts usually did - with snow.

Severus half expected to be hit by a snowball all the way down to the greenhouses and all the way up again after Professor Sprout had informed him that due to night frost and a highly infectious peduncle flu the greenhouses would be closed all week.

'Unpleasant,' she had informed him, 'but I cannot help it. Do inform your fellow classmates on your way up to the castle, will you?'

Severus, however, presumed that a little relaxing (if futile) walk in the chill was just the thing his fellow students needed, especially since none of them seemed particularly interested as to why he was walking away from the greenhouses in the first place. Also, Severus was still instinctively waiting for the obligatory snowball to meet his neck, preparing inwardly to try his newly acquired hexing skills (Lucius was still teaching him every now and then) on the first person to dare an assault.

But no one threw anything. Instead, Severus noticed, a group of grown-up witches and wizards (not teachers) had arrived at the bottom of the stairs that lead from the playground outside to the corridor in front of the hospital wing. Some of them were carrying papers under their arms, and two or three were wearing the red uniform of Azkaban's Aurors and the border's soldiers. With some relief Severus found that his father was not among them.

One of the wizards, a person he remembered from only a single, very unpleasant encounter, was walking up and down impatiently, as if waiting for something - or someone, Severus thought. He had crept carefully behind one of the rose bushes near by to get a closer look at the strange group of people, trying to make out their expressions and, perhaps, catch a few bits of conversation.

The one he had recognised was still pacing up and down impatiently, halting briefly in front of one of the younger witches, then started walking again. His expression was as dark as ever, and only when one of the Aurors placed his hand on his shoulder did he seem capable of controlling his impatience enough to stop and turn around.

'Alastor. I am not in the mood for one of your lectures.'

'I am not going to lecture you, Fumes,' said the growling voice of the Auror he had addressed as Alastor. 'You are getting on my nerves.'

Fumes's expression changed slightly. 'Giving you your due,' he remarked grumpily. 'You tend to speak what is inside your head. Still...' he hesitated for a moment, 'I am not in the mood for criticism.'

He turned.

'Minerva is as important to any of us as she is to you,' remarked one of the other two Aurors dryly. 'Come off it, Alexander. Before we haven't spoken to Dumbledore there is no reason for fussing.'

'I am not fussing!' snapped Fumes, now turning to the other man, whose face was not clearly visible to Severus from his hiding place. 'Don't you dare give me orders, man.'

There was some mumbling. And a growl. No one replied, however.

'The question for me,' said the Auror called Alastor after a short while quietly, 'is - who would dare poison Dumbledore's Deputy Headmistress right under his nose? A member of staff? Unlikely. A student? But the sixth formers have nothing to lose. They don't gain anything by poisoning their Transfiguration teacher right before their finals. Also, Minerva is said to be very fair, especially among the older ones.'

'Been investigating, have you?' said his fellow Auror cheerfully, clapping his shoulder. Alastor grinned.

'Gotta show that I'm worth my money,' he remarked dryly. 'What with all those changes... who knows if there'll _be_ any Aurors in a few years time.'

'I don't think the Ministry is going to cut us off,' said the third Auror with a twanging voice Severus instantly recognised as belonging to the Malfoy family. 'That would be insane. Who would want to be responsible for getting rid of the community's only constabulary force?'

'They are talking about placing Dementors on all entrances of the wizarding prison,' said Alastor darkly. 'It is only a matter of time until they replace all of us by those... creatures. However, I doubt they will make them do our entire work. Or can you imagine a Dementor hunting down criminals?'

'I don't find the thought too absurd,' remarked one of the witches who was wearing an emerald green set of robes and a bun not unlike Professor McGonagall's. 'Seeing as some of them have agreed to support the Ministry in matters very similar to criminal hunting already.'

She pronounced the word criminal as if it was something she desired to see erased from the English word pool. Severus got the feeling that she was somehow related to Professor McGonagall, noticing that she had the same set of dark eyebrows and the same stern, somewhat impatient voice when talking to the men before her. The taller one, Alastor, gave her an odd look, then his dark lips curled into a rough smile. 'Too true,' he said merely.

'Talking about criminals,' continued the McGonagall witch. 'Have you got any further with your prosecution of the Knights?'

'Mrs. McGillivray,' said the Malfoy slowly, placing his fingertips against each other in an effort to produce a restrainedly impatient though dignified gesture. 'I do believe we have spoken about the confidentiality of the information the commissioner entrusted you with?'

'Naturally, naturally,' said the witch earnestly, though apparently unconcerned. Severus pondered for a moment where he had heard the name McGillivray before, then gave up on the matter as the Auror said,

'But I appreciate your concern, of course. I understand that you have relatives among the victims of that pub incident?'

'A close friend,' replied the witch. 'However little reason Minerva seems to have in this matter, I still see Topaz McGonagall as a family member almost, rather like some unpleasant event of the past.'

'Minerva is rather disinclined to speak with him these days?' enquired the third Auror.

'Oh, I am sure she would have visited him in hospital had not this... unfortunate accident happened just now,' said Mrs. McGillivray sourly. 'By the way, I do wish Dumbledore had at least an ounce of politeness about him. It is freezing and I haven't got all day.'

'You are free to get inside,' remarked the taller Auror. 'It will be warmer in one of the empty classrooms.'

'Go to a Hogwarts classroom?' said the woman's voice. 'Most certainly not. I have had the displeasure for seven long years, thank you very much.'

Some people laughed. The tall Auror turned slightly, his face now fully disappearing from Severus's view, and ruffled up the hair on the back of his head in a gesture that seemed painfully familiar, although Severus needed a moment before he remembered where he knew it from.

Suddenly, the doors to the playground opened and a number of second-year students stormed into the morning chill, not seeming to feel much of the coldness. Two of them separated from the group almost instantly, though, hurrying towards the small group of grown-ups in typical Gryffindor eagerness, not seeing Severus behind his rose bush.

'Dad!'

'James.'

He had been right. It was hard to miss, too.

'Dad, guess what's just happened!'

'I am sure you'll tell me in a minute.'

'Professor Binns is dead!'

There was an instant silence spreading over the group of grown-ups and all heads turned towards James Potter and Remus Lupin, the latter of whom stood around with a rather subdued expression on his face, seeming less excited than his best friend.

Mr. Potter stared at his son for a short, shocked moment, then grabbed his son's shoulders, hard and kneeled down to him, his expression displaying shock and disbelief.

'James. What are you saying?'

'It is true,' said Lupin with a small voice. 'He is dead. And then again, he's not. Cause... well... I don't think he's realised what happened. He just entered the class as usual and started teaching and... and... well, we didn't want to say anything, but... well... Lily thought it wouldn't be nice not to let him know, so... well... she'

'What do you mean he did not realise what happened?' came the growling voice of the Auror called Alastor from the back. 'What have you seen?'

'Well, he sort of... he's...'

'He's a ghost,' said James, grinning. 'That's awesome. Dad, I wanna be a ghost when I'm dead. Can I be a ghost, too?'

Severus rolled his eyes. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, seemed suddenly worried beyond belief.

'Can you bring us to him?' he said, still kneeling before his son. 'Where is he now?'

'Dunno,' said James vaguely. 'I'm not sure, but I think he's teaching fifth years after the break, so perhaps he'll be back for that.'

The other wizards and witches, in the meantime, had started chatting avidly, some of them clearly more upset than others. One of the older wizards, wearing a beard not unlike Dumbledore's, who carried a heap of books and papers in both hands, hesitated for a moment, then started walking towards the direction out of which Potter, Lupin, and the other Gryffindors had just stormed out.

'Hamish!' cried Mrs. McGillivray eagerly. 'Where on earth are you going?'

But the wizard did not reply. Several of the others, still in doubt, finally resolved to pursue their friend and eventually the largest part of the group walked towards the castle in more or less hurried steps.

Severus, on the other hand, remained patiently behind his rose bush, curious to hear whether Potter and Lupin would be telling their friends from the other houses what exactly had happened.


	23. Two Meetings

**

Two Meetings

**

'It was the most awesome thing I've ever seen,' James told everyone who would listen, even twenty-four hours after their Professor's sudden departure to the land of the not-quite-so-dead-as-you-would-expect. 'Binns swept into the classroom as if nothing had happened - and it _was_ Binns, only that...'

'...only that he was all shiny and t-transparent and not wearing his glasses,' said Balbina thoughtfully. 'You mentioned it. And Lily t-told him what was g-going on?'

'She didn't dare at first,' Remus said quietly. 'None of us did. He looked as though he was perfectly all right with this new state of his. Only that we all know him and did suspect he hadn't actually noticed.'

'He is like that, isn't he?' grinned James.

Balbina nodded. She was in a rather good mood today, having listened to several of James's stories instead of attending her usual Friday afternoon Transfiguration lesson. Naturally, as the headmaster still had not decided to hire a temporary substitute teacher for the subject.

'I expect,' she remarked, looking around in good humour, trying to find what the other two boys were doing at the moment. She spotted Peter under his bed, trying to pull out a few sweets that had rolled under it the previous day. The rest of the room seemed empty, except that the curtains of Sirius's four-poster were drawn and moving from time to time as their owner shifted in his seat, obviously not following their conversation.

'Oy,' said James loudly and even Remus threw an interested look into Sirius's general direction.

'Hey, S-Sirius,' said Balbina, grinning slightly. 'You're awfully q-quiet. I get nervous when you're around but d-don't speak. It's just not you.'

'How do _you_ know what's me and what isn't?' came the grumpy voice of Sirius Black from behind the curtains of his four-poster. 'Besides, I rarely talk when I'm reading.'

'What are you reading?' enquired Balbina curiously.

'Deborah Whitehorn's Annual Transfiguration Guide,' replied the young Pureblood sourly. 'Shut up.'

The conversation went back to Binns, as many conversations in any of the four common rooms did these days.

'What d'you reckon happened to him?'

James threw a tired look at his werewolf friend. 'Remus, really. What good's all that speculation going to do? Don't you think people will solve the matter very soon? My dad's on it, you know. And he says you cannot tell what happened cause Binns can't remember a thing. Old fool, he says. Should be watching what kinds of people he surrounds himself with. Especially with Robertson around, in possession of the key to the potions ingredients stock.'

'You think Robertson's g-got something t-to do with it?'

'Well, he poisoned McGonagall, didn't he?'

'But he never tried to hush up the existence of the lab,' remarked Remus quietly, making Balbina turn to give him a thoughtful look. 'Don't you think Dumbledore would've took action if he'd learned about Robertson brewing illegal potions there?'

'That was a stupid assumption anyway,' said James angrily. 'He could just have done it in his private quarters if he'd wanted to poison anyone. We're idiots just jumping to conclusions about people we don't like.'

'I expect we'll soon f-find out. Dumbledore's investigating the matter,' said Balbina yawningly. 'And s-so's your father. Or why's he still hanging around?'

'He's busy with the Binns case,' replied James matter-of-factly, 'but if the two cases are linked -'

'You are an idiot, Potter,' came a voice from behind the veil of Black's four-poster. 'The two cases are not 'linked'. The person who poisoned Binns did it by accident. McGonagall was supposed to die.'

'P-personally, I s-s-suspect Malfoy in that matter,' started Balbina, but James cut her off.

'What do you mean it was an accident?' he snarled, glaring at the veil behind which, Balbina was sure, Black had put away his lecture and was glaring back challengingly.

There was no reply for some time. Eventually, the shuffling of papers told the three boys and Balbina that Sirius had got hold of another magazine and was now involved in his reading again. Remus grinned, throwing a short side-glance at James, and even Balbina could not help but notice the dark cloud appearing over young Potter's slightly self-important facial expression.

'He's a show-off,' growled James, looking at Balbina, shrugging, and then turning his back to the now motionless four-poster. 'Let him stay behind his veil. He knows nothing anyway. But I think you were going to tell us about the basic training?'

'Yes,' said Balbina quickly. 'The b-basics. G-good of you to remind me. I b-b-believe Peter hasn't heard about them?'

Peter Pettigrew shook his head, as silently as ever. James rolled his eyes.

'The b-basic t-training,' said Balbina, turned to him, 'is a p-preparation course for p-people who want to go into either an Auror's c-career or become soldiers in the wizarding army. Their number has greatly d-diminished during the past few years, but there is still five to seven applicants who are t-taken on each year.'

'Of the fifty who are stupid enough to apply,' added the voice behind the veil. Balbina side-glanced.

'You could p-put it like that,' she said softly. 'T-traditionally,' she went on, facing Peter again, 'children from P-Pureblood families are sent to try out, no matter how suited they might b-be for the job. Working for the community's c-constabulary force, or the army even, is p-promising in terms of honour and general acceptance. Of c-course,' she added, 'it is rather well p-paid, too.'

'You forget that people think there isn't much else to do,' came from behind the veil and Balbina looked up, slightly annoyed, about the renewed disturbance.

'Naturally,' she admitted after a while. 'That is a general p-problem.' And to Peter she said, 'Our k-kind are worried because there aren't enough jobs that remain exclusively within our world. Most jobs we have involve g-going out and dealing with Muggles as well as witches or wizards. That is why Muggle Studies is g-gaining more and more acceptance, even among the older generations. P-people realise that we _have_ to g-go out and meet them. Then again, jobs within the Ministry or the army are much favoured, of course. And much b-better paid.'

'You said there were going to be changes?' enquired James curiously. Balbina nodded.

'Lots. They are planning to c-cut off the Aurors' training ent-t-tirely. It... is about the same as the soldiers' really, but the Ministry have d-decided that if B-Bagnold wants human law enforcement, Bagnold's g-going to _pay_ for human law enforcement. And for the t-training and all. She's strictly against letting D-Dementors into Azkaban, you see. You would have heard about the d-dispute. It's been going on for ages now. Well, naturally no single person could afford to p-pay all the Aurors out there, so now they're discussing to go p-p-private with the lot. The problem being that some p-people think the wizarding prison will be a place of b-bribery and c-corruption if that should come to p-pass.'

'Thinking, quite rightly, that people like the Malfoys will rise to uncontrolled power if they are given the chance to gain control over the constabulary,' said Sirius, for the first time today standing in front of them, a copy of The Daily Prophet tightly in his hand. 'Look at this.'

He thrust the yellow piece of parchment in Balbina's hand, who frowned and passed it on to James, saying, 'Read aloud. P-please'

James read.

_**'Aurors Appalled**_

A decree released by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement this week evoked new criticism among those who have been watching Bartemius Crouch's (Minister, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) recent activities with concern rather than approval. On Thursday morning, members of the Ministry officially declared that all human statute officers in Azkaban are to replaced by Dementors by the end of the year. The reason for this, says Crouch, lies with the acute emergency situation in various parts of the country, with assaults on civilians in a number of Muggle settlements and even a few deaths, caused by the so-called 'Knights of Walpurgis'. The group of youths, who have lodged a claim to rid the country of all Muggles and 'revive our rightful reign over the risible rats' (anonymous Knight), had declared themselves responsible for a number of minor attacks on Muggle-born wizards and witches in early January this year, making it plain that they demand to be treated with respect and, more importantly, that their philosophy ought to be taken seriously. 'It is for the country's own good,' says a further anonymous member in a recent letter to the Ministry, pointing out that 'no bloodline could stand the number of intrusions by Muggle filth' these days and that 'Bagnold's blatant misuse of her position will be our downfall eventually'.  
Meanwhile, the community's opinion about the so-called Knights is parted. Whereas people like Albus Dumbledore (headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry) insist on the importance of this matter and keeps listening to the unfounded accusations and preposterous suggestions of the Knights, other people more commonly think of them as 'a mere bunch of our teenagers gone wild' (Colonel Lance Snape, former Commissioner of the stationary troops in Azkaban), whom, it must be noted, yet no one these days seems capable of getting under control.  
Problematically, not only the community's nondisclosure is at stake in this matter, but the safety of all Muggles and wizarding folk will be endangered if these attacks continue, according to Crouch. He therefore advocated the adoption of his new approach as early as possible.  
On a further note, the decree introduces new powers for the Aurors in terms of attacking and narrows their general training down to three years rather than five. Something, which not only Crouch's enemies regard with worry.'

James lowered the Daily Prophet slowly, looking up at Sirius thoughtfully.

'A bunch of teenagers, ey?' he said.

Sirius did not reply. He took the newspaper from James's hands and turned to Balbina.

'And now an intelligent statement,' he said.

'N-not a word about the funding,' said Balbina after a short moment's thought. 'Meaning they are probably settling it on the quiet.'

Sirius nodded and maintained an expectant silence.

'What k-kind of attacking powers?' continued Balbina. 'And why's their training cut? Not to mention that they won't start until they're what... eighteen, if I'm not mistaken?'

James frowned. 'This smells like a compromise. A bloody agreement between Millicent bloody Bagnold and Marius Malfoy's oversized wallet,' he said darkly. Sirius turned to him.

'Finally,' he said, looking earnest. 'A valuable contribution.'

* * *

When the small group entered his office, Albus Dumbledore sensed at an instant that something was wrong. Just how right he was he found out only seconds later when the white shape of one of the castle's many ghosts hovered through the door, which Hamish McGillivray seemed to have closed behind himself only seconds ago. The ghost looked around, not at all disturbed about this rather impolite gesture as it seemed, still managed to shoot something like a death glare in the direction of Minerva McGonagall's elderly father, and then sat down in front of Albus's desk, or - what appeared to be sitting. Meanwhile, the little group of Ministry representatives stood around rather uselessly. Albus, on the other hand, touched the brim of his half-moon spectacles and pushed them lightly to the tip of his crooked nose, surveying the remains of his former history professor not without interest.

'May I ask what happened to you, Beathan?'

'I suddenly woke up without my body,' said Professor Binns, seeming to find it obvious that these things did occasionally happen. 'Everyone dies, don't they? I just happen to have made provisions. That is all.'

'And I am _sure_ that happened the legal way, too,' remarked Mrs. McGillivray cynically, speaking aloud what her tight-lipped husband was probably thinking.

'In fact,' said Professor Binns loudly, 'there is no official regulation for becoming a ghost after one's death, seeing as the area of responsibility cannot accurately be determined. But I am sure you knew _that_ already.'

He earned himself a pointedly warning look from both, Vesta and Hamish McGillivray, then turned back towards the headmaster, apparently unconcerned.

'Beathan,' said Albus thoughtfully, 'when did you last see yourself in the mirror as a human being?'

Professor Binns considered.

'In the evening,' he said eventually. 'Well, it wasn't exactly a mirror, but I expect that is not what you're asking.'

'What did you see yourself in?'

'It was the reflection of the liquid inside my tea cup,' said the ghost, sounding very matter-of-factly. 'While I was reading in the library. I...'

'Liquid?' said one of the Ministry members and Alastor Moody, who had placed both hands on Albus's desk in an attempt to get a closer watch on Professor Binns, rose slightly to cross both arms in front of his chest.

'The library?'

'I was reading,' repeated the ghost impatiently. 'It happens in my profession, you know.'

'What were you reading?'

'_Spell Origins._ By Filo Logius,' said Binns grumpily. 'Anyway, I cannot remember seeing anyone and I definitely know that there was no one around to poison my... the liquid.'

'Old boozer,' came from some member of the small group and one or two sniggered.

'Isn't it true that a large amount of alcohol can kill a man?' remarked Vesta McGillivray dryly. 'It seems, Beathan, that your drinking habits finally got onto you.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' snarled the ghost, attempting a derisive glare. 'I have not been drunk since your brother-in-law's most recent drinking bout.'

Albus knew instinctively that he was lying. Beathan Binns had not once been invited to Angus McGillivrays birthday celebrations, so much was certain.

'I summarise,' he said now, folding his hands on top of his desk, gazing around at all those present, alive or dead. 'Someone inside the castle is trying to poison someone else inside the castle. Very likely The same two persons. The murderer, or - attempted murderer is a skilled potions brewer or very lucky - or both,' he added as an afterthought, giving Alastor Moody a tired, very thoughtful look. The Auror cleared his throat, as thoughtfully, and crossed his large, uniformed arms in front of his chest.

'Minerva McGonagall is very likely not the target of this operation,' he said, but nor is Professor Binns here.'

'What makes you think that he isn't?' said Alexander Fumes, who was standing behind the three Aurors, next to the shelf where Albus kept his more valuable belongings. He looked angry, but, then again, he always did, the headmaster resolved. The McGillivrays seemed as doubtful.

'I am sure there are various reasons for killing Beathan,' said Minerva's mother, failing to make this sound like a joke.

'Not for the students,' said Alastor gruffly, 'and anyway, the assault cannot have been planned for him because he was not supposed to be in the library last night, were you, Beathan?'

Several pairs of eyes turned to him. Including the ghost's, who frowned.

'I wasn't... what?'

'You were not supposed to be in the library,' stated Moody simply. 'You were supposed to be leading a seventh year study group in one of the classrooms on the third floor. And everyone expected you to be there that evening. Not in the library.' He grinned. Binns remained motionless as comprehension dawned to him.

'Darn!'

'Still as reliable as ever?' remarked Mrs. McGillivray dryly and Albus shot her a quick, warning look. You had to mind what you said when there were ghosts around.

'I have lots on my hands,' said the ghost grumpily, 'and anyway. That's none of your business, Vesta.'

'We shall have to investigate on the cause of your death, Beathan,' said Albus quietly, pointedly interrupting the conversation. 'And we shall have to think about filling the vacancy.'

'What vacancy?' said the ghost, sounding surprised. Albus hesitated just for a moment.

'You wish to maintain your current place within the Hogwarts staff?' he concluded. Beathan frowned.

'Is that a question? Does my current state provide any difficulties for anyone involved? I don't think so! I am as fully equal to teaching as I have ever been.'

'That exactly is the headmaster's worry,' remarked Mrs. McGillivray dryly. Some of the others grinned.

'Please,' said Albus tiredly. 'I know you must be distressed, but...'

'I apologise,' said Mrs. McGillivray quickly. 'We need to get on with the matter.'

'I agree,' said Fumes. 'We need to find out who is behind all this. And quickly. I daresay we have enough problems already with those 'Knights' out there.'

Several of the others nodded in weary agreement.

'I trust you to investigate on the library matter,' said Albus quietly, nodding at the three Aurors. 'And on that 'liquid'. Look around for anything that could be of value in this matter. And don't forget - the students are not to know anything for now. This may be more complicated than it sounds.

'What about the Robertson case?' said Alastor Moody quietly.

'Later,' replied Albus, feeling slightly exhausted by the many expectant looks on his face.

'For now, we shall have to concentrate on the library. 'Anything else I should have mentioned?' He looked around, seeing people shake their heads slowly. Only Hamish McGillivray seemed restless. He frowned at his wife, then at Albus, then pulled his hands out of the pocked of his dark waistcoat slowly (which he was wearing on top of a perfectly traditional set of wizarding robes), and crossed his arms.

'The Corbie?'

'Of course!' said Albus quickly. 'You will want to know about Minerva's well-being...' he threw a worried glance at the McGillivrays and some of the others, pulling his beard thoughtfully. 'Well, the problem is that no one seems to know the exact ingredients of the potion that caused her current state. It seems that similar effects of potions on human beings have been known and tested, but not this exact one and... nothing that could reverse it.' He sighed. 'It is rather unfortunate, I am afraid. But unless we find the culprit of the attack... I cannot guarantee that she will ever come back to life.'


	24. A Headmaster's Enquiries

**

A Headmaster's Enquiries

**

It was the same day on which the rumours had occurred that Professor Albus Dumbledore chose to pay a call to the household of Snape.

This was, by no means, an unusual event. Still, Lance Snape was taken by surprise when his office was suddenly lit by the fire of his tiny fireplace, usually reserved for army internal travelling or brief discussions. Albus had not called for several months and it was rather fortunate that the soldier happened to be at home at all, rather than in one of the many training camps down in M'bwa or New Kellington. He also happened to be enjoying a few moments of free time with a mug of tea in one hand, and a dissertation on mammal transfiguration in the other, when Albus's head appeared in the office's fireplace around tea-time. The Snape politely advised him to use the much bigger device situated in the living-room, which was for private guests, not general army use.

By the time Albus stepped into the living-room, less dirty, he felt, than after any other "floo journey" he had ever undertaken, Lance had settled down in one of the room's larger armchairs, still holding his mug, and had provided a further cup of tea, as well as another armchair opposite the place where he was sitting. He had crossed his legs and seemed rather relaxed, though curious what the headmaster might have to say.

Albus settled down thankfully.

'I trust you are not here to talk about Severus,' said the soldier before his opposite had even time to get comfortable. It was not a question.

Albus shook his head. 'I trust _you_ have heard the rumours about Professor Binns's death,' he replied calmly, knowing that Lance Snape tended to be among the first to be informed of such things.

'Indeed, I have. Your call is not totally surprising. Still, I want to hear exactly what happened.'

Albus told him. He did not take long. When he had finished there was a short silence before the soldier spoke up again.

'You are here because you want to know whether you can trust Robertson.'

Albus nodded.

'I told you before the start of term that the boy has my unlimited support,' continued the youngest of the Snape sons pensively. 'And that is all I have to say to that, although I will not deny that he can be difficult at times.'

'I have caught him several times applying the old implements on students who misbehaved,' said Albus quietly. 'Is it possible that he has... certain problems in that respect?'

Snape senior laughed quietly.

'Implements?' he said, not seeming in the least concerned. 'A cane at a boarding school? Highly unusual.'

Albus chose to ignore the blatant sarcasm.

'Am I or am I not right in my assumption that Robertson has experienced violence in his youth?' he said, as calmly as before. Lance considered for a moment, then bent forward (and downwards) slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, to look the headmaster in the eyes.

'Yes,' he said.

'And am I right thinking that you know him better than... say... your average recruit?'

'Yes.'

There was no emotion visible on the Snape's face. Albus, on the other hand, pulled his beard while speaking, appearing rather thoughtful. 'You know that Atropus Robertson has been involved in the accident concerning Remus Lupin and his family a few years ago?'

'Yes,' said the Snape for the third time and leaned back. 'And did _you_ know that Rodney Robertson has not been in contact with his parents for more than fifteen years?'

'No,' replied Albus, feeling his eyebrows raise in surprise. 'I know little about this family. Too little, to be exact. That is the reason for my being here.'

The soldier nodded.

'I thought so.' He made a little pause, playing with the brim of his mug, then looked up at Albus, more earnest than the headmaster had ever seen him.

'I'll tell you why I believe Robertson innocent of the two murders -'

'One murder,' said Albus quickly, observing a small gleam of - was it gratitude? - on the Snape's face.

'Of course. Well, I shall tell you why I believe him innocent and why I doubt he is, as you claim, mistreating the students in his spare time.'

Albus nodded, remaining silent.

'Robertson was raised by his grandmother,' said the soldier quietly after a while. 'You might know her, she is a member of the _Knitting Fates Association_, in which, I believe, Vesta McGillivray spends a lot of her free time.'

Albus nodded again. 'Miranda Robertson. Of course. Former classmate of mine.'

'Mrs. Robertson,' continued the Snape, 'is widowed, but tends to choose very young lovers, all roughly from the generation of Rod's parents. Among them, various of my brothers...'

Albus raised his eyebrows. 'Your brothers?'

'Yes,' said the Snape darkly. 'You would not know Palatine... he died several years ago...'

Albus shook his head in mute sympathy.

'You might, however,' continued the soldier, 'have heard about the case of the other.'

There was a short break, in which the headmaster waited politely.

'Viminal Snape?' said Lance supportively.

With effort only, Albus brought over his lips what had gone through his head immediately at the mentioning of this name.

'The lunatic?'

Lance's eyes narrowed for a second, then his face straightened again, as abruptly.

'Yes,' he said, more coldly than usual. 'That's him.'

'I'm sorry,' said Albus quietly. 'And what is it he has to do with Robertson?'

'Robertson was... the case,' said the Snape quietly. 'You remember what Vim was imprisoned for?'

The headmaster shook his head slowly, pensively. 'Not the details. I was in Germany at that time. Ministry business. The Daily Prophet didn't deal with the case either. I am afraid it must have gone past my notice.'

'The Daily Prophet remained silent because that is what I demanded,' said the soldier grimly. 'Can't stand how they take to pieces whatever happens in front of the Wizengamot these days. None of everyone's business, in my opinion.'

Albus nodded. Silently.

'Vim is, without a doubt, mentally disturbed,' explained Lance quietly, not taking his eyes off the headmaster and his tea. 'He cracked when Palatine died in the hospital and our mother... "went missing" down in M'bwa. We still haven't found her.' There was a short silence in which the soldier stared into his mug, apparently absent. When he looked up again, there was an odd glitter in his blue eyes, which the headmaster believed to have perceived in his son's dark ones in similar situations. Lance was leaning on one of his arms rests now and was speaking with some effort.

'I believe Vim used a number of illegal spells on Rodney... over a certain period of time. Everything from torture - not Cruciatus, mind you. He would not directly go against the law, cracked though he might be - but also spells that are usually used for age degeneration with animals. You know - to make the beef more delicate... or the milk taste better. Does that make sense to you?'

'Of course,' muttered Albus. 'Mentally disturbed people are often reduced to their basic desires and act accordingly. Provided your brother does have age-play tendencies...'

'I think that is totally out of the question,' said Lance sharply and the headmaster decided it was probably wise not to explore the topic any further.

'You'll realise now why I don't believe Rodney Robertson would lay his hands on innocent children - not in an abusive way,' said the soldier after a small while. 'And should that ever come to pass, trust that I will personally pay him a visit before the year is over. But he knows that as well. He is not stupid. Don't believe Rodney a murderer, Professor. He is just lost. And he doesn't belong at Hogwarts. It is the army he needs. The company of his friends... well... friend. Anyway... a bit of distraction. Not teaching a subject any _Muggle_ could do if only they knew the secrets. Believe me, Robertson doesn't kill.'

There was another silence. Both men followed their own stream of thoughts and eventually came to the conclusion that it was time to change the subject. Both at the same time, unfortunately.

'How is your wife...' began Albus exactly the moment in which his opposite chose to offer him some tea. Both wizards thanked each other instantly and Lance Snape was quick to assure that, apart from occasional ailments, his wife was all well and healthy.

'She has had these 'ailments' for some time, though, hasn't she?' said Albus critically, but the Snape gave him such a sinister look that the headmaster decided to drop the subject.

'And... how come you know Robertson so well?' he eventually enquired, noticing that Lance made him feel slightly awkward and look frantically for a topic of conversation - by merely sitting there, not saying anything at all.

The soldier gave him a dark look.

'That is just the way things turned out,' he said coldly. 'I had to guarantee the victim's safety, so I brought him here. For the time being. Turned out that he stayed a bit longer in the end. For several months, to be exact. Before he moved to M'bwa into the camp. His grandmother is not...' he hesitated, just for a second, 'not the best choice to raise a child,' he said eventually, some finality resonating in his dark voice.

Albus hesitated. Then, after a very long time, nodded again. 'And...' he said, gazing into the flickering fire, 'it worked out? With your son, I mean?'

'Oh, Severus is quite a bit younger than Rodney,' said the Snape and shrugged. 'As you will have noticed. They weren't much in each other's way. Still, I think Rod was oddly interested in Severus. Even though he never liked to show it. Severus, of course, is too stubborn to see Rodney's efforts as a kind of approach. Believed himself in danger whenever Rodney was around. He often shows rather egoistic - sometimes paranoid tendencies, I'm afraid...'

'So your son and Professor Robertson have never had any concrete problems?' said Albus, having to admit that he was surprised. His opposite shook his large head, frowning down at the headmaster over the brim of his mug. Even in sitting position he was surmounting most of the room's chattels, including the headmaster in his armchair, who noted that the Snape _appeared_ relaxed, but wasn't.

'What is it,' said Albus slowly, very quietly, 'that you are trying to conceal from me, Lance Snape? Is it something important or just the fact that in spite of his childhood experiences Robertson _has_ always been interested in sado-masochistic practice and you just do not know how to put it?'

The gaze that met his was like a dark cloud over a single barn in a thunderstorm. Slowly, very pronouncedly Lance put his mug onto the small living-room table and glared directly into the headmaster's eyes. Albus was not surprised to find an Occlumency wall thicker than any he had ever seen appear in the general area of the soldier's stern forehead. Lance built himself up to his full size, which was considerable, and put one massive hand flatly on the rest of his armchair.

'Are you using Legilimency on me, Albus Dumbledore?'

The tone in his voice was carrying an unmistakable threat. Albus did not move so much as a muscle.

'No. But I have known a lot of Snapes in my life and I have known you for some time now. And, of course, I am making lucky guesses based on some of my recent assumptions,' he added as an afterthought. Lance kept watching him sternly, but leaned back in his armchair again after a while, no less cautious than before.

'I see,' he growled. And after a long moment's silence. 'You are a wicked old man.'

'I might be old,' said Albus, smiling, 'but that in itself cannot be regarded a problem. You, on the other hand, tend to take things too seriously and that makes you _appear_ old.'

His joke seemed to meet Lance's disapproval. The soldier frowned.

'I believe I now know everything I came for,' said Albus after another moment's silence. 'You'll have work to do, as usual.'

'As usual,' the Snape nodded.

'We still haven't had our game of chess,' said Albus quietly.

'No,' said the soldier. 'Perhaps when the year is over.'

'I'll come back to that,' replied the headmaster, still smiling. 'As a celebration, perhaps, when we have found a solution for the Knight problem.'

A simple nod was the answer. Nothing more.

There was not much to do to get the headmaster of Hogwarts back into his office. A few more words were exchanged, then his departure was arranged. Some floo powder fetched from the office. Just when Albus put his hand in the Snapes' small box of greenish army floo powder, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Turning again at an instant he realised that he had almost expected this.

'One more thing, headmaster...'

Albus, noticing that it had been a while since Snape senior had called him this lowered his arm again and returned the younger man's look unblinkingly. Witing. To the untrained eye, Lance Snape appeared to be his usual grumpy self, but the headmaster sensed that there was an insecurity underneath which was rarely found in a Snape. In such an apparent manner, that was.

'Yes, Lance?' he said, cautious to assume a warm smile, sensing the fragility of the situation.

'Concerning the Knights,' said the Snape hesitantly. 'I meant to ask you a favour. It isn't very urgent... and certainly not official... but it _is_ said that Hogwarts isn't as safe as it used to be.'

He hesitated once more. Albus, on the other hand, took the larger man's arm, in turn, and looked straight into his eyes.

'Severus?' he said quietly.

The soldier nodded.

'I shall have an eye on him,' promised the headmaster, not knowing where his sudden awareness of what was causing the Snape's uneasiness came from. 'We are hoping, of course, that the Knights do not hold their meetings inside the castle, but I shall do my best to protect our students of them - and especially your son.'

To his great surprise a smile spread over the large man's face. Both man stared at each other, one seeming feel as awkward as the other.

'Thank you,' said Lance eventually, unable to put across any more of what was going on inside him. He quickly pressed Albus's shoulder, gave him an appreciative look, and vanished into the hallway. A hiss and some floo powder brought the headmaster back to where he came from. The living-room remained in silence.


	25. Serious Secrets

**

Serious Secrets

**

It had turned quite late again. The dark corridors were all the more frightening now that curfew hour had passed, but Sirius was not afraid. He did not feel much at all. After the gruesome events of this day, Professor Binns's death, the headmaster's questioning, the fight with Snape ('Yes, another one, Professor Vector. But I can assure you it will be the last' - for a while. If he keeps his big, fat mouth shut, that is.)...

Sirius pulled a grimace.

Things were not at all going the way they were supposed to. Not at all. With effort he tried to recapitulate the events since his bet with the stupid slimeball. Well, not a bet exactly. Sirius remembered, trying not to feel guilty about it, that he had been the one to tell Snape that if he did something stupid, he, Sirius, would be the first to reward it. And, after all, what more was Snape than a stupid child? He had taken him literally. _Must_ have. What else had been the cause of all the tragic events since Christmas time? What else could be the cause for the unexpected death of Professor Binns? Someone must have killed him. Snape must have killed him.

With a shudder, Sirius tried to suppress the immediate thought that crept up his neck at the idea of Professor Binns dead on the floor - or in his armchair, in any case. What had been the cause of his death? Poison? Something else? Another thought, even less pleasant than the first, awoke in his mind.

Sirius kept thinking about death and what it might be like to not be able to walk and breath any longer. He had been thinking about it all year, ever since Malfoy had come up to him, asking him to fulfil his vow. To do his family duty and the whole group a favour. The group... who called themselves "The Knights of Walpurgis"...

Another shudder went down Sirius's spine, and another. What if... but it was impossible. He had given up the thought and poured the poison away. Away? Not quite away, he realised. The book was still soaked with it, even though he had returned it to the library the same night. The book... the poison... meant for Dumbledore...

'Going for a nightly walk?' said a dark voice right behind Sirius and he jumped. When turning he saw, with as much relief as anxiety that it was Lucius Malfoy who had discovered his nightly trespassing. A short grin appeared on the elder boy's face and he lowered his wand, the tip of which was gleaming threateningly in the darkness.

'Malfoy,' he said eventually, realising that he sounded reproachful rather than diplomatic.

'As a sixth-year Prefect, dear cousin,' said Malfoy, 'it is my duty to put all curfew breakers in detention. Especially Gryffindors.'

Sirius shot him a tired look. 'C'mon, you'd never put anyone in detention if it isn't somehow to your personal benefit.'

'Sometimes I do,' replied the Malfoy casually. 'What are you doing out here?'

'Thinking,' said Sirius with a grin, well aware that he sounded as though Malfoy had never heard of such a thing. 'What are _you_ doing?'

'Fixing a problem,' said Malfoy darkly. 'None of your business. You still haven't changed your mind?'

'I cannot take this path,' said Sirius quietly. 'When poisoning that book I realised that the last thing I want with people like Bellatrix out there is Dumbledore dead and gone. So... I put it back.'

'You mentioned it,' said Malfoy coldly. 'Any idea what happened to the book? And the poison?'

'I was just reflecting on that,' replied Sirius glumly. 'Suppose I should get it back. But another night searching the library? I cannot even remember where I put it.'

'You are such a child, Sirius,' hissed Malfoy suddenly. 'Idiots like you are the reason why our influence is decreasing so incessantly. Why didn't you destroy the book?'

'It is a library book,' said Sirius defiantly. 'It shrieks if you try to set fire to it.'

'A library book,' snarled the Malfoy. 'Damn right! Do you know what that entails? That just anyone can take it out of the shelf and open it! Even innocent bystanders. Even a _teacher!_'

Sirius held his breath. He did not want to think. Did not want to imagine what Malfoy was implying.

'It was _you_ who killed Binns!' hissed Malfoy after a second's silence. 'And if it hadn't been for me, your guilt would be known to the whole school by now. Because _I_ destroyed the book after he got his hands on it, reading until he slept. I have been on your track for a while, Sirius, and so could anyone else have been! How could you be so _stupid?_ This blunder is worse than your disloyalty to our group. Now people will ask questions.'

Sirius shrugged. 'Let them. If that means Bella's finally brought back to her senses...'

'What are you talking about?' snarled the Malfoy. 'Haven't you realised what we are fighting for?'

'I realise that you are prepared to murder,' said Sirius quietly. 'And that I am not. I will not tell on you, because you are still my relative, and I believe I owe you something. Still, keep me out of this matter. I have made my decision.'

Malfoy remained silent for a moment, then put a hand on Sirius's shoulder soothingly.

'You are right,' he said eventually, the usual, slippery tone of his voice returning all of a sudden. 'You owe me something. For not turning you in as the murderer of Professor Binns. And I shall tell you now what I want.' He stopped, meaningfully, and glared into Sirius's face. Then he spoke, even more quietly and with the air of a threat about him, 'If ever you get yourself so deeply into trouble that you do not have the choice but to tell the truth... to give away what you have done this term... I want you to swear by all that is sacred to you that you will not give away the people who have been part of this.' He took out his wand, muttered an incantation and pointed it at Sirius's wrist. 'Swear,' he muttered, 'by your blood that you will not mention the name Malfoy or give away anyone you know to be in our organisation, should Dumbledore or his followers ever ask you about it. Swear that, till beyond the veil, you will only talk to a Knight... about the Knights of Walpurgis.'

Sirius stared at him, hesitated, and then, wordlessly, lifted his wrist slightly to touch the Malfoy's wand, ignoring the searing pain that went through his body, and then nodded. Dutifully.

'I swear,' he said, knowing that he would not be able to defend himself convincingly if ever he should get caught over the murder of his own teacher.

Malfoy nodded. 'Good,' he said quietly. 'There is some sense left in you at least. The others have pledged the same, by the way. And remember, a magical oath is nothing to play around with.'

'I know that,' said Sirius harshly. 'Binds you. Worse than Imperio. So... what happens now?'

'The group have given up their plans of just poisoning Dumbledore, seeing as most of us feel that this would require several trustworthy members of our group right in the headmaster's inner circle, rather than a single student who isn't sure of where his loyalties lie. Also, some of us have realised that, while he is the main source of trouble, the headmaster's death will not change enough for our further plans to proceed. Well... and, of course, Rudolphus is having a kind of power struggle with Bellatrix at the moment,' he said, scratching his head. 'That matter's a bit odd. They cannot seem to decide who's having the last say.' He grinned.

Sirius remained silent. He had learned, in many conversations with his family, that listening with a carefully impassive face could be the best way to get your hands on useful information against the person in question.

Malfoy scratched his head again, seeming more like a student than a conspirator by the minute.

'Well then,' he said, 'I suggest you get back to Gryffindor tower. Filch is watching these two corridors tonight, as soon as I have returned to bed. And Robertson is doing the ones further down, of course.'

Sirius nodded. Merely.

Malfoy put his hand on his shoulder, briefly, then turned and walked off, leaving Sirius standing in the middle of a dark, deserted corridor, very pensive, and thoroughly awake all of a sudden. The matter of the second murder seemed solved, of course, if you could call it that at all. But what about Professor McGonagall? _He_ hadn't turned her into some sort of half-ghost. He had not even _bought_ the poison at that time. Deep inside him something screamed that whoever was the owner of that (now-not-so-secret) lab had to be guilty, but not even Dumbledore seemed capable of guessing who had been brewing secret poisons there.

Malfoy?

Impossible. He was sick, but not that careless. Also, Sirius doubted that he knew enough about potions to brew such a difficult one himself. It had been a liquid unknown to even Madame Pomfrey, after all. Not to mention that Professor McGonagall had been transferred to St. Mungo's some time ago - and not healed, as yet.

No, the originator of this scheme had to be intelligent and stupid at the same time. An expert concerning potions, a foreigner to the endless corridors of the castle (or he would not have chosen such an obvious place for the execution of his plan), and an enemy of Professor McGonagall, provided that the poison had been supposed to fall into her hands - which Sirius did not doubt.

And strictly speaking, there was just one person Sirius could think of whom exactly this description applied to...

* * *

'A chair each! Don't make such a fuss! There is enough space for all! Quiet, Prewett, I am not saying it again! Gryffindors in this line, Slytherins here, Ravenclaws over here, please. Hufflepuffs to the last table, but mind your heads. This construction has to remain exactly where it is for Professor Sprout's Advanced Herbology class! Prewett, you have just landed yourself in detention! See me after prep-time.'

Professor Robertson's voice was audible all over the Great Hall and students hurried to do his bidding. When Sirius had settled down between James and Peter he realised that staring continuously at the lanky Professor with his unattractive blond goatie would not be the wisest thing to do while he was under his command during homework preparation time. Sirius remembered that Robertson was short-tempered, generally rude, and could not in the least differ between mischief-makers and people having serious problems with their work. Still, the students were used to teachers like him, having endured Professor Jones for the whole of a year and still remembering well what Professor McGonagall's lessons had been like - discipline-wise.

Minutes later, the Great Hall was covered with silence. People were working, Remus was absent, James was doodling with his quill and sometimes scribbling bits and pieces onto his paper. Sirius, on the other hand, sitting in the first row, very close to where Robertson had positioned himself, was lost in thoughts about the Potions teacher and his motives.

Suddenly, however, in the back row of the Slytherin area a small hand raised itself into the air, shyly, waiting for Robertson to acknowledge it, earning itself various funny looks from its owner's classmates. It was not common to start conversations during prep time. In fact, it was not common to start conversations at any time when Robertson was in charge. Sirius considered for a while and decided that Robertson's authority probably had something to do with his being a member of the army. Hogwarts students were not stupid. You did not start power struggles with someone who could be entitled to take you into custody in years to come. The next conclusion Sirius drew was that Snape was probably in an utterly desperate situation if he decided to take the risk of enraging the Potions master. And a risk he was taking by raising his hand in the middle of prep time hour, Sirius decided. Definitely.

Professor Robertson took a full thirty seconds of glaring at his sacred silence's insolent intruder before raising his hand, simply, motioning Snape to come forth all the way to the teacher's desk.

The boy did not seem happy. He got up, half stumbled over his chair and, eventually, passing James and Peter on the way, reached Robertson's desk, both hands hidden behind his back while walking.

The age difference between him and the other second-years, Sirius noted, became more and more visible as the year proceeded. Most people were turning thirteen this year, and were thus going through various changes in appearance and voice (the latter applying to boys rather than girls), whereas Snape, it seemed, had entered Hogwarts a year early and was just still being his usual childish self. Sirius actually acknowledged that, for someone that small, Robertson had to appear quite scary on his large desk with his mouth constantly looking as though he was chewing an onion.

Then again, Sirius realised after a moment's consideration, no person of their right mind could possibly be afraid of someone like Robertson. Not actually. Not like that. You did not come across him, but... actual fear? At present, the thin soldier with his lanky stature and gaunt face was just a teacher after all - and a bad one at that.

'I'm very sorry, sir... per-permission to go to the to-toilet... sir?'

Snape's small voice was audible only to Robertson and the people sitting in the front row near him, but these words alone were enough to make Sirius have to suppress a snort of laughter, wondering how on earth Snape had come up with that way of putting it.

Robertson's gaze darkened.

'Who do you think you are?' he hissed, almost as quietly as the Snape, but more dangerously. 'Prep-time's not to be interrupted for things like that. You could have gone beforehand.'

'But... I need to go - now,' said Snape unhappily. 'Please, Rod-... s-_sir._'

He looked rather subdued. Sirius, on the other hand, could not help noting the way Snape had almost called Robertson by his first name. Why... he had not realised there was more to those two than a healthy student-teacher enmity. Had he, perhaps, missed a crucial point in finding the person setting up secret labs in the Hogwarts dungeons after all? With interest, he went on listening.

'You will return to your seat immediately,' hissed Robertson, as quietly as before. 'And you are not going to get up, or make a sound before _I_ say so. Is that clear?'

'But I really have to -...'

'Quiet!' snarled Robertson. 'Not a word.'

'You let Lucius off the other day,' said Snape angrily.

'Mr. Malfoy is a Hogwarts prefect,' replied Robertson coldly. 'You, on the other hand, are just a troublesome little bugger needing to be shown where your place is.'

Sirius frowned. Snape's expression, he noticed, had become one of desperate fury.

'That isn't fair!' he said, so loudly that some people looked up from their papers. 'You just won't let me go cause you have it in for me!'

'Silence!' said Robertson icily. 'I will not be spoken to like that. Go back to your place, Se-_nape_, or I shall have to apply more drastic methods to make you obey.' He leaned forward just slightly and glared challengingly at the much smaller boy.

Snape's gaze darkened.

'Git,' he muttered, in what Sirius thought was an attempt of suicide, and turned to go. He had not come further than two or three steps, however, when Robertson raised from his seat and put both hands on the desk before him.

'Office, Severus,' he said in a voice of full authority, which took even Sirius by surprise. 'Tonight at eight.'

Snape lost control over his legs (apparently in consequence of the Potions teacher's words) stumbled, and fell flatly on his stomach. Sirius saw the boy's hands curl and glittery sweat appearing on his neck, next to his greasy ponytail. He quickly turned and stared back at Robertson, who had not moved, but was glaring down with the faintest air of a threat about him, ignoring the restrained giggling of the students surrounding his victim.

Snape was back on his feet quicker than anyone had expected. His face had assumed an odd colour as if unable to decide whether to turn red or white. With a brief glance at Robertson's face he made to retort something, but not a sound was coming out of his mouth. He seemed bound by an invisible spell (the Potions master's work?) to oblige and nod. Sirius saw him clench his fists, lower his gaze and eventually walk back to his desk, unsteadily, very visibly trying to get himself under control again. He was even muttering to himself in a serious effort of self-control. Sirius was impressed.

'And I am not hearing another word from you till then!' added Robertson indignantly, which Sirius thought was an unwise move, seeing as the Slytherins had Double Potions this afternoon. The Potions master would have to take back this statement within the next two hours. But that was genuine Robertson logic, of course.


	26. Blackmail Worries

**

Blackmail Worries

**

'What's wrong with you? You think we're going to beg for your attention just because you're having a bad day? If you don't wanna come... don't!'

None of the other students was taking notice of the two Gryffindor boys' dispute, as always. Remus understood, that disagreements between James and Sirius counted as one of their most typical features, along with their clever ideas and altogether pleasing personalities.

'Exemplary students,' Professor McGonagall had once called them, 'but like fire and water when it comes to opinions or attitude. It _is_ clear that Mr. Black was raised in... shall we call it a more traditional household, while Mr. Potter's views are rather ahead of his time.'

For whatever reason she was discussing such things with him, Remus had not been able to find out. However, he was generally thankful that _someone_ was keeping him company, waiting for the full moon to rise. Professor McGonagall could be as patient as a cat when it came to staying in the Shrieking Shack until he had fully turned into the raving monster that came out only once every four weeks. Duty, she had once called it, to oversee a second-year's outdoor activities at night. How he would manage the next full moon without her guidance was totally beyond him. Then again, it was probably expected of a second-year werewolf to find his way into his own cage. With a sigh Remus reminded himself that, at some point, he would have started going out to the Whomping Willow, through the dark tunnel, and into the Shrieking Shack all alone anyway. There was no point denying it. If you were a werewolf, you were on your own.

'He is stubborn, annoying, foolish, and sulking for no reason,' James suddenly said aloud, having noticed that his friend's attention had drifted from the scene at hand. 'Moon-howler, are you with us?'

'Don't say that,' replied Remus quietly. 'Besides, I'm thinking. James... maybe he _is_ right. Maybe we should not put too much hope in seeing Professor McGonagall again.'

'That's not his point!' retorted James, angry that Remus was not entirely on his side. 'He is just trying to make us ask what's wrong with him. But he's been doing that all day now. I'm sick of it.'

'Hm,' said Remus pensively. 'He never seemed the type, though. What if he's got something huge on his mind and just can't share?'

'He ought to share or stop being a pest,' replied James grumpily. 'I'm not running after him, in any case. I'd rather go to the library.'

'Excellent idea,' said Remus with relief. 'A bit of work can only be good - for all three of us.' He side-glanced at Peter.

James stared.

'Who's talking about working?' he said, grinning. 'I am going to look for something entirely different. You know...?' He looked around.

'I know,' said Remus quickly. 'On Transfiguration methods. Don't you think that's a bit dangerous, seeing as no one will believe you're doing homework while McGonagall's away?'

James kept grinning. 'Aw,' he said. 'Is the ickle wolflad getting nervous about our... plans?'

'I've been against this from the beginning,' said Remus quietly. 'It is very dangerous. I don't want you to come to harm.'

'And I want to know what's so difficult about this transformation,' said James loftily. 'I won't stop till I haven't at least _tried_ to do it myself.'

'You're mad,' said Remus, as quietly. 'What need is there to -'

'Quiet,' said James suddenly, his eyes narrowing playfully to small slits. 'I am sensing blackmail.'

'Hu?' Remus stopped, just as James had done, giving his friend a mystified stare. 'Blackmail? What are you talking about?'

James looked back at him, putting a finger to his lips. 'How hard is that to understand?' he said after a small while, his face changing into a broad grin. 'I. am sensing blackmail. A. Black. Male. There's not too many of them around.'

It dawned on Remus that he was being had on. He gave his friend a puzzled grin and then turned.

'No, I don't mind you making fun of my name while I'm not around,' said Sirius, standing only a few steps behind Remus and James, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 'Potter, you are an idiot.'

'Shut up,' said James happily. 'You've decided to join us then?'

'I have decided that I can't let you blow yourself up all by yourself,' replied Sirius earnestly. 'It's going to be such a laugh.'

'Git,' muttered James, but he was still grinning.

The second floor corridor leading to the Hogwarts library, which was Madame Pince's domicile, was deserted. Remus assumed that the first-years, who usually occupied most classrooms in this section, were all having prep time lessons in the Great Hall. Peter voiced the thought, before he had finished it.

'Firsties having a good time with Robertson, are they?' he said.

'No, stupid!' was James's off-hand reply. 'Robertson's teaching Slytherins at the moment. Didn't you see Nott and his likes walk into the dungeons only minutes ago?'

'I am glad prep time's over for today,' said Sirius thoughtfully. 'Robertson's a git. Incapable of doing a single lesson worth attending. Even Peter's bored, and that's saying something.'

'He is slightly misplaced in a school,' Remus admitted. 'A Potions Master should know certain things.'

Sirius frowned, suddenly looking very pensive.

'How to boil a kettle of water, for instance,' said Peter matter-of-factly.'

'Oh, but he can do that,' said James, grinning. 'He just keeps boiling the kettle as well.'

They laughed all the way up to the library. Having arrived there Remus noted, much to his surprise, that Madame Pince had left her usual supervising position behind the large librarian's desk and vanished behind the numerous shelves in the back end of the library. Sirius and Peter settled down on their usual places and James walked a few rows of shelves down, wanting to see whether the librarian was busy or not. He returned a little while later, clearing the line for opening the more dangerous books.

'She's talking to someone somewhere behind the Restricted Section shelf,' he mumbled. 'Dunno who. But they seem rather involved in their conversation. Seriously-'

Sirius looked up, earning himself a grin.

'Is it Professor Binns?' asked Remus curiously. 'I mean his ghost? Is it him?'

'I don't know,' said James vaguely. 'Didn't hear too much of the conversation. Besides, all that I could hear of the other person was an occasional _Ook_.'

Remus gave him a questioning look. 'Ook?'

'Look,' said Sirius in a low voice, 'are we going to discuss Madame Pince's inclinations or were you going to spend your time with something sensible? I don't need to be here, wasting my time with you, you know.'

'Arrogant bastard,' replied James in an off-hand voice. 'Just for your information - I found this book on magical accidents yesterday, which I was going to have a closer look at. You won't believe what you can do to yourself if a transformation goes wrong.'

Sirius seemed slightly absent, Remus found, although the taller boy often pursued his own thoughts when the four were together. Only his best friend's efforts of drawing attention to himself seemed to have some effect on his pure-blood friend. Remus noticed how James attempted to catch the Black's eye more often than necessary, probably to make sure that Sirius actually took notice of the way _Derwent Shimpling_ had once eaten a Venomous Tentacula for a bet - and survived.

'Just look at his colour,' he said impatiently when Sirius's gaze wandered to one of the back shelves for the umpteenth time. 'Sirius! Are you with us at all? C'mon! What's wrong with you?'

'I am just thinking,' said Sirius, 'how odd it is that some things just happen. You don't expect anything to happen, but are forced to make a decision and - boom! Your world explodes.'

He was chewing the edge of his school robes, Remus noted with some surprise.

'Boooooring,' replied James impatiently. 'If you wanna be philosophical, don't do it here. We were going to -' he stopped and looked around carefully. 'We're going to find a way of helping Remus, aren't we?' he said, sounding somewhat disgruntled. 'And to be honest, you're getting on my nerves staring at the history bookshelf like a reptile all the time. What's so interesting about history?'

'Nothing,' said Sirius slowly, very pointedly, and then, without much further ado: 'I think I'm going to get some fresh air, after all.' And he left the library before any of the others could say another word.

Remus stared after him. He had got used to Sirius being sometimes moody and even irritable, but his recent dreaminess had a particularly disquieting edge to it. Therefore, after a few more minutes of stubborn reading from James's and Peter's side, Remus rose as well.

'Guess someone should go and see what he's up to,' he mumbled. 'You won't need me here anyway.'

James hesitated and then nodded. 'Yeah, go on, have a look,' he said, his voice having an edge to it. 'Me and Wormtail, we'll be fine by ourselves, won't we?'

Remus gave him a fairly surprised look.

'Who is this _Wormtail_?'

James grinned. Peter's face, on the other hand, assumed the shade of ripe tomatoes.

'T's not funny,' he mumbled.

Remus looked from one to the other, fairly confused. 'What?'

'Let's just say that name sprung to me when I saw him standing in the shower after flying lessons,' said James, grinning.

Now, it was Remus's turn to blush.

'I'll... go and see what Sirius is up to,' he said again quickly, leaving the library in flight-like hurry.

When he stepped into the corridor, there was a glorious mess outside. Some first-years had seen the need of taking off the portrait of _Gilbert the Great_, who was now separated from the picture-internal world within Hogwarts and howling pitifully in fear of what might happen if he was dropped.

The first-years were obviously fighting over something that had nothing to do with the picture, Remus noted, and one of the girls was standing absently next to Gilbert, ignoring his heartbreaking sobs, doing up her robes and hair while watching the fighting mass.

Madame Pince took a full five minutes to notice the racket right in front of her library, but she came eventually.

'What is this supposed to be?' she snarled, pulling the fighting boys apart with some force. Both received a ringing slap on each cheek, something Remus had got used to in cases where Madame Pince was involved. But, of course, the librarian seemed thoroughly disgruntled these days anyway. Remus suspected that her bad mood had something to do with the decease of Professor Binns.

_Gilbert the Great_ was restored to his rightful place again, and it was only now that Remus recognised one of the boys to be his Slytherin classmate Severus Snape, who was no bigger than the tiny first-years, it seemed, and not in any way more disciplined either. At the moment, he was re-doing his black ponytail while Madame Pince went on scolding the small group of fighters for some minutes. Then, she stormed back into her library, leaving the boys to pursue their own purposes again.

Remus was surprised to see that the fighters had come off so lightly, seeing as tomfoolery was usually severely punished. Then again, Madame Pince _was_ confused, and perhaps she was too troubled by other things to think about detention and letters to her students' parents and the like.

Remus continued his way up the Hogwarts staircases, hoping to find Sirius in the Gryffindor tower, sulking in a corner. He did that kind of thing, Remus had noted, although he also looked down upon people who tried to solve their problems by running off. Snape, for instance, who (Remus was sure of that) should currently be doing Potions, not wandering around in corridors, taking pictures off the wall.

But there was no problem, Remus told himself. We have done nothing to justify this kind of behaviour. There hasn't even been a serious fight recently. Not between Sirius and James, and not between Sirius and any of the other Gryffindors. And yet, he has been behaving as if there was something on his mind. Something... heavy.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Finally, finally. This chapter's taken ages. Not that I am the quickest person when it comes to updates anyway. The boys' school year is proceeding and I am nearing the end of this story. And at least I now managed to get the raw versions of the next two chapters ready. That'll give me something to work on during the upcoming exam weeks.  
Hope you are not too sick of waiting. I expect it must be a nuisance. Then again, we need to bridge the time until June 16th, don't we? Just drop me a threatening review or e-mail if I'm getting unbearably slow. :) Thanks and greetings to y'all. 


	27. Concerning Feuds

**

Concerning Feuds

**

In the corner of one of the washed-out toilets on the second floor there was a figure sitting near the window, cowering against one of the basins, crying. The picture was simple in itself. So clear to Severus Snape, so well known, that he needed a full minute's time before realising that the person sitting here was none he would ever have expected in such a situation.

He had come to this toilet in search for a mirror and to fight against his upcoming anger against the unjust actions of the Hogwarts librarian. After all, what was the point of making such a fuss about a simple fight? And he had had reasons, too.

Severus had chosen the girls' toilet (and an out-of-order one) because he was afraid to be seen in his current state. No one ever came here, meaning no one would see if he did decide to smash his fist against the wall, very simply, to make the anger disappear and to give way to tears he was not allowed to have - not without reason at least.

He had done so several time. This toilet was his domicile. His private shelter, giving him some peace from the hustle and bustle of school life - and the privacy he so needed sometimes.

And now all that was disturbed by the last person he wanted to see, who had invaded his very shelter.

But Severus was not angry. He was so startled to see Sirius Black burying his face in both arms like a four-year-old, shaken by sobs, that his first instinctive reaction was to laugh. Then again, he did know from various experiences, the last thing you wanted against you in a deserted corridor like this one was a Black with a grudge.

Severus decided to retreat.

The moment he moved, however, Black looked up, his face harassed (though still tear-shed) and slightly angry.

'You!' he snarled.

Severus stopped dead on the doorstep and turned.

For a short moment, both boys just looked at each other, pensively, but none the less hateful and suspicious. Then, both having the same though, they spoke in unison.

'What're _you_ doing here?'

'Thinking,' said Black icily, making it sound as though Severus had never heard of such a thing.

'Washing my hands,' lied Severus quickly, stepping forward to one of the basins only to find out that it was out of order. Black turned away.

'You're a bad liar,' he said tiredly.

Severus thought that he had a point.

'You keep getting into trouble,' continued Black after a short while. 'Why?'

Severus looked up, frowning. 'What?'

'I want to know why you keep getting into trouble instead of keeping your head low and trying to avoid the people who hate you,' said Black, more slowly, as if speaking to a slightly retarded person.

'Dunno,' said Severus evasively. 'Can't avoid everyone, can I?'

'Fair point,' mumbled Black, shifting in his position on the floor. 'But apart from that? Why d'you have to choose the wrong moment for everything you do? Tell me.'

'I don't,' said Severus angrily. 'Stop treating me as if I was an idiot.'

'But you are an idiot,' said Black silkily. 'Come one! No one likes you. No one takes you seriously. You always do everything wrong, and you can't do a simple transfiguration spell without blowing up everything in reach. You're a failure, Snape. Get used to it.'

'I'll show you just how many spells I can do correctly!' snarled Severus, finding the larger boy just a bit too arrogant for the position he had found him in. 'What're you blubbering about, anyway?'

Black's face closed.

'Sod off, Snape,' he snarled. 'What do you know? What would you understand?'

'More than you think!' snapped Severus, leaning against the broken basin. 'But that's what _you_ don't understand!'

There was a short silence.

'You're right,' said Black eventually, staring at the cubicle in front of him. 'You know more about curling up and crying in a corner than anyone I've ever seen, whiny little idiot.' And he grinned, full of mischief again as it seemed.

Severus exploded.

(When remembering the scene later he was not too sure whether he could not have restrained himself, had he wanted to, but fact was that Black looked so much smaller in sitting position and that the opportunity had been too tempting...)

He made a step forward, hit the Gryffindor on the head with all the strength he could muster - and turned to flee. With some surprise he realised, four corridors later, that he had got away unharmed.

'Fair enough,' he muttered. 'Serves him right, always being such an git. Perhaps he knows and that's why...'

But that was as far as he came, because in front of him, like death in person, appeared another person he hated above anyone else.

Professor Rodney Robertson had found that if you did not treat students like the foolish little brats they were you never actually got anywhere with them. He had also come to realise that Severus Snape was one of the hardest cases at Hogwarts, simply because of the position his father had within the wizarding army.

But he also knew that he was going to take away some of the boy's arrogance, if not all, before the year had finished. Simply using Severus's most basic fears against him had been one of his finer moves, he found. Practically no effort at all, but all the effect in the world. Severus seemed positively terrified of eight o'clock offices and what might await him there. It did pay to know a bit about the Snape-line, Robertson told himself.

But the plan had failed. To his great surprise, Severus had been missing in his lesson on chicken pock cures, and since he was not on the ailment register, Robertson had assumed that he was skiving off.

'You're a fool, Severus,' he told the boy, having caught him in one of the back corridors on the second floor. 'No matter how hopeless your situation is, you keep getting yourself into even more trouble. Did you think I would not notice? Did you think you'd get off unpunished because I know you? I'll tell you something - you'll _regret_ the fact that I know you. You'll regret various of your stupid, childish actions tonight, sonny.'

An evil glitter seemed to glide over the older man's face and Severus wondered, for a moment, if he was actually mad. Then, Robertson dragged him into the Potions Master's office within the Hogwarts dungeons, carefully locking the door behind him, both, magically and the normal way. Severus held his breath.

'It is not eight,' said Robertson gravely, 'but we'll get the matter behind us now.'

Severus gave him a cautious stare.

'What d'you want to do?'

'That is 'sir',' said Robertson softly. 'We may have known each other for a while, but for now I am your teacher and you will address me as sir or Professor at all times. Understood?'

'Yes, sir,' mumbled Severus quickly. He was not a fool.

In their childhood, that is - when Severus had been about seven, Rodney Robertson had spent a few weeks in the household of Snape. Luckily (due to the extensible upper floor) they had not been sharing a bedroom, but they had been sharing a lot of other things, Severus remembered. Among them enough time to last for the rest of both their lives.

'So,' said Robertson. 'You think you can get your will at all times with me, simply because your father used to and will be my superior again before the end of the year?'

'No, sir,' said Severus nervously. 'But I had to go. I was desperate.'

'You will realise that your behaviour down in the Hall was absolutely out of place,' said Robertson silkily, circing Severus, who had taken the seat in front of Robertson's desk, like a hungry tiger. 'I shall not be tolerating behaviour of that sort. Especially not from students who are as abysmal at brewing simple potions as you are.'

'I'm not!' said Severus, unable to restrain himself. '_You_ nearly made it explode!'

He found himself face to face with Robertson's reddening face, who was now only inches apart from his student's nose.

'_Careful!_' he hissed. 'With what you say. How _dare_ you assume I did not know _exactly_ what I was doing?'

'Didn't say that,' said Severus quickly, well aware that Robertson knew he had meant it nevertheless. 'Still, if I may point out...'

'_Sir!_' snarled Robertson.

'If I may point out, _sir_,' repeated Severus angrily, 'that if you add asphodel root to a centaur intestine essence and heat it like that it'll blow up for sure. That is elementary knowledge.'

Robertson did not react for a while. He remained standing and glared down at Severus in what seemed a rather undecided way. Suddenly, before Severus had time to react, he brought back his hand and gave the boy a ringing slap on the cheek.

Severus jumped and retreated.

'I shall tell you something,' said Robertson, as softly as before. '_You_ are a student. _I_ am your teacher. _I_ shall be telling _you_ about the function of ingredients, not vice versa. And you will get rid of that foolish arrogance of believing yourself entitled to lecture, or give orders, or call me names. You will stop doing all these things tonight - I shall see to that.'

* * *

The headmaster's office was silent for a little while.

'We shall need to decide,' said Albus quietly. 'Otherwise it could be too late anyway.'

'Are you sure there is no other way?'

'Her body cannot take this state much longer,' said the headmaster sadly, shaking his head. 'And she will dissolve for certain if we have not made our decision by next week. Dr. McGonagall holds the view that if we find the person responsible for this it would be feasible to trace back the ingredients they used _and_ to create the bond that has saved so many people's lives before. All we need is a bit of their blood... and the recipe, of course.'

Both visitors frowned. One of them cleared her throat. She was a tall, slender woman in her seventies, who was wearing her black hair in a stern bun at the back of her head and who was now watching the headmaster through a pair of small, round spectacles.

'Then why don't you find him?'

'It is not as easy as that, Vesta,' said Albus, as quietly as before. 'The laboratory has not given us any clues as to who might be the culprit, and Professor Binn's case is a mystery to all because the source of his death seems to have vanished from the library.'

'You _cannot_ steal books from the Hogwarts library!' said the witch quickly.

'Och, aye,' came a dark voice from her side. 'Ah heiv bin reivin' tha' leebrary plenty o' times in oor days.'

Albus raised his eyebrows at the younger wizard, whose lips were curling to a small grin.

'You are not taking this situation seriously!' snarled his wife, throwing a reprimanding look at her pipe-chewing husband. 'Incidentally, you cannae claim to be pinching when you were always giving them back afterwards.'

'Ach, but ah _intended_ tae keep 'em,' said her husband. 'Them books can tell, ye ken.'

'In any case,' said Albus with some emphasis, 'we shall of course keep looking for ways, but if the culprit cannot be found, we shall have to decide whether to try and use that spell.'

'There is not much chance that she will survive it, though, is there?' said Vesta icily.

'No,' said Albus unhappily. 'As Dr. McGonagall said -...'

Suddenly, the door of the office burst open and a boy (one of the students, almost certainly) stumbled in, apparently surprised that it had opened on its own accord rather than withstanding his run.

'_Mr._ Black,' said Vesta McGillivray disapprovingly. 'How dare you storm the headmaster's office?'

'Must... talk... headmaster...' said Sirius, fully out of breath. 'It's... I mean... I think I know who...' He side-glanced at Vesta and stopped. Blinked, gave her a slightly puzzled look, then grinned. 'You are not related to Professor McGonagall by any chance, are you?' he said, continuing to investigate her.

'I am her mother,' she snapped. 'And you are Mercurius's son, are you?'

'Perseus's,' said her husband knowledgeably. 'The aulder o' twae.'

'Sirius Black,' said Albus now, feeling that there were more important matters than family business to discuss at the moment, 'is there a specific reason why you are interrupting this meeting?'

'Sir,' said Sirius nervously, 'I think I know who killed Professor McGonagall -' there was a sharp intake of breath from all three grown-ups, '- and I think I know why he's done it, too.'

There was a fraction of a second in which no one moved. Then, against everyone's expectations, Hamish McGillivray rose from his chair, grabbed the boy's shoulder and took his pipe out of his mouth.

'Wha?' he said.

Sirius seemed nervous. He looked up at the headmaster, hesitated for a second, and then shook off the older wizard's hand.

'Can I talk to you in private?' he said timidly. 'I'll try and tell you everything I... I _can_,' his face assumed a strange expression, 'but the matter is very complicated and I'll need some time.'

Albus nodded. 'If that is what you prefer...' he looked at Hamish and Vesta, hoping that his expression would speak for him. 'Just a few moments,' he said quietly, 'to solve this seemingly... delicate matter.'

As expected, Vesta made to protest, but with a movement more swift than his usual ones, her husband took her arm and pulled her out of the room to go and settle down in the Great Hall, as Albus assumed. Her watched Hamish close the door behind them and eventually turned to Sirius, his expression full of earnest worry, bearing just a gleam of hope.

'Tell me,' he said, 'who you think tried to murder my deputy headmistress.'

'Snape,' said Sirius, looking for once not as though being appalled by the mere memory of this person. 'Severus Snape.'


	28. Robertson's Flaw

**Robertson's Flaw**

Dumbledore lowered his head and slowly took off his half-moon spectacles, cleaning them, but continued to survey Sirius very closely, wearing a worried expression on his weary face.

'Is that all?' he asked after a short while. 'What happened to your head?'

'Just a little accident,' said Sirius abruptly, not wanting to discuss his little encounter with Snape on the second-floor. 'Nothing serious. Although I do consider myself serious every once in a while.' He grinned at the headmaster, who gave him a weak smile.

'But apart from that…?'

'That is all,' said Sirius simply. 'Apart from the bits, which I am bound to keep secret by the oath. Apart from all names.'

'We shall see about that when the year is over,' said Dumbledore thoughtfully. 'And when every bit of the matter is solved. I shall have to talk to Mr. Snape to fill the gaps and to confirm your statement, or course. Have you any idea where he could be at the moment?'

Sirius checked his watch. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I haven't seen him all day. Then again, I was un-… was… busy. In the library. But he is due to meet Professor Robertson in the evening. In his office.'

Dumbledore frowned slightly. 'Again?' he muttered. 'What has he done this time?'

Sirius hesitated, slightly surprised about the headmasters reaction, then shrugged. 'Been interrupting prep time.'

Dumbledore sighed. He did not comment, but took out his wand and placed it squarely on the palm of his outstretched hand.

'Severus Snape,' he said. 'Point me.'

Sirius watched, with some surprise, how the wand started shivering and suddenly rose slightly from the headmaster's palm, turning down towards the floor of the office. Dumbledore nodded.

'A simple army move,' he told Sirius with a side-glance. 'Appropriate, don't you think? And it seems Mr. Snape is currently somewhere in the dungeons.'

'Probably met Robertson on his way back to the dormitory,' said Sirius grinning, remembering that Snape had been skiving off Potions.'

'Do you think that possible?' enquired the headmaster with some surprise. Sirius shrugged.

'I told you that I believe they have know each other for more than just a year. They have to keep themselves from calling each other by their first names all the time.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Indeed,' he muttered. 'It _is_a difficult situation. Maybe I should have foreseen that…'

Sirius frowned. Not wanting to admit that he had no idea what the headmaster was talking about he grinned slightly again and pointed at the wand on Dumbledore's hand.

'Are we going to have a look?' he said, fighting his curiosity.

The headmaster hesitated, then nodded.

'Very well,' he said quietly. 'But I must ask you not to comment on the situation we are very likely about to observe. I am afraid it will not be a pleasant one.'

Minutes later, both, Dumbledore and Sirius, were heading towards Professor Robertson's office near the Potions classroom in the dungeons. The old man seemed upset, Sirius noticed. Personally though, he was just curious to see how much basis in fact his theory on Snape's and Robertson's special friendship actually had. He was surprised to see that Dumbledore pulled a small gadget from his pocket while walking, glanced at it briefly and then, without knocking, opened the door of his Potions master's study.

The scene that opened before them was unlike any Sirius had expected. The room's only chair had been turned to stand away from the desk. On top of it, Robertson had seated himself – his left hand holding a hair-brush, the right one busy pushing his left sleeve over his elbow. Sirius also needed a moment to realise that the person lying squarely on Robertson's lap, both hands curled into his teacher's robes, wearing nothing but a shirt and a pair of pulled-down, dirty underpants was Severus Snape. His robes were lying in a heap on the floor next to the desk, his face was covered with the usual dirt, sweat and tears. Trying to bury his face in Robertson's dark robes, but shaking all over and mostly not managing to suppress his sobs, Snape did not even look up when the head-master entered.

'Rodney,' said Dumbledore as calmly as ever, 'we have been discussing this, have we not?'

Robertson stared at him, slowly lowered the brush, and eventually pushed Snape from his lap, who scrambled up quickly and backed away into a corner, the look on his face being one of pure horror. Dumbledore stepped forward and took the hairbrush out of the surprised-looking Potions professor's hand.

'You will not need this,' he said calmly. 'I told you that if you continued this, I would have no other choice but to let you go.'

'You misunderstand my intentions, headmaster,' said Robertson, suddenly controlled again, his voice as smooth as ever. 'Please rest assured that I have had very good reasons to resort to these methods.'

'Rodney,' said Dumbledore again, his voice lowered, 'I will not have corporal punishment at Hogwarts unless absolutely necessary. Is that clear? If someone blew up their fellow students – repeatedly, I am not sure I could deny you the pleasure, but…'

'What do you mean_the PLEASURE_?' snarled Robertson, getting up heatedly. 'What are you implying?'

'Not implying. Just remembering Viminal Snape's words at his trial,' said Dumbledore, as calmly. Robertson went pale. Sirius noticed his hands disappearing in the pockets of his robes, not sure whether he was hiding them or reaching for his wand. Several seconds passed in silence and Sirius realised that Robertson was actually glaring at the headmaster, his gaze displaying a slight uneasiness, as well as reproach.

'I have been going through the old files after my visit to General Lance Snape,' said Dumbledore as quietly, with a side-glance at the two boys, both of whom were following the conversation with interest. 'And Lance had to say one or two words about the matter. But I am sure you will not want to discuss it here.'

Robertson's shoulders sagged slightly. He suddenly looked very worn and, after a moment's consideration, nodded sullenly.

'You win,' he said, throwing an almost warning side-glance at Sirius – and eventually at Snape. 'But I had my reasons for this.'

'And I have reason now to abduct your… student of choice,' said Dumbledore, appearing unmoved. 'If you will excuse us…' He gave Snape a small nod, indicating to follow him, and the boy came, after some more hesitation. Sirius noted that he had not taken up his robes again and was still wearing the same expression of horror he had set up only a minute ago.

'Mr. Snape,' said Dumbledore, 'please get dressed again and follow me outside. Snape did as he was told.

Without another word of explanation, Dumbledore led the way down the dungeon corridor and to the very door Sirius knew was the entrance to the abandoned laboratory. The headmaster halted in front of it and gave the small Slytherin a piercing look.

'Mr. Snape, after I parted you and Professor Robertson last time, what did you do?'

Snape frowned.

'Went to the commons…' he muttered, his hands deeply buried in the pockets of his school robes.

'And during the following days?' said the headmaster as quietly, never taking his gaze off Snape, who went slightly pale again.

'Nothing,' he mumbled uneasily. 'What do you mean?'

Dumbledore opened the door to the laboratory and peered in. 'Interesting location to brew poisons in,' he said and Sirius realised that his voice now had an edge to it. 'Especially for a second-year student. Mr. Snape, I expect you to tell me the truth for a change, about your role in the establishment of this laboratory, because then I shall tell you why Professor Robertson did not die from the poison you slipped him.'

Snape's face had lost all remaining colour. He did not reply for some time, then managed to pull himself together just enough to utter a small sound of protest.

'I didn't…'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. Just slightly, Sirius noted, giving the Slytherin time to reconsider his strategy. After another short moment's silence the boy lowered his head. Stared at the floor in front of his small feet and eventually said, his voice toneless and slightly choked, 'H-how… how d'you know 'bout it?'

'The poison you used,' said Dumbledore calmly, 'has given a lot of trained medi-wizards and –witches quite a headache. Partly because, if used on the female body, it seems to show effects that have never been tested before and are thus unknown. And you _did_use it on a witch rather than your intended target,' he added, noting that Snape's expression was bordering a blankness never before achieved. 'Did you not?'

Snape seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.

'McGonagall…' he whispered, but fell silent the same instant.

'I see that you realise what I am talking about,' said the headmaster calmly, maintaining a very stern expression nevertheless.

'But I put it in_his_ mug!' Snape burst out. 'How come _she_ drank it? And… and why didn't she make out the potion in the first place? It's an easy draught just anyone would recognise. You'd have to be a downright idiot to -…'

He broke off, obviously thinking that he had given away too much already.

Sirius observed, with some surprise, that a brief twinkle caught the headmaster's eye before he quickly assumed a serious expression again.

'I have to admit that it is probably my fault that your idea did not work out as intended,' he said quietly. 'Unfortunately, I have not yet had time to investigate on the matter, but it seems that there was a quite heated discussion on wizarding law involving Professors McGonagall and Robertson during the meal. I just could not interrupt my listening to their conversation, which is why I seem to have confused Professor Robertson's mug with my own. It is the only possible explanation.

Incidentally, this tiny little detail is what left me in doubt about the culprit until now. I did not believe for a minute that anyone would want to kill Minerva McGonagall, but assumed that the assault had been directed at myself. Quite arrogantly, perhaps. It did not even occur to me that the mug, which was confiscated by Potter and Moody the day after, might not be the one I should have been drinking from. You intended to poison Robertson. Not me.'

Sirius watched Snape blush under Dumbledore's thoughtful look and then shake his head, desperately, horror returning to his eyes.

'Not poison… not _kill_…'

'There is no need to lie,' said Dumbledore sternly. 'There is not much, overall, which the healers could find out about the potion, but so much is certain – it was clearly designed to kill. Still, I have no doubt that, although you put some effort into the production of the liquid, and although you doubtless thought you had reason to get rid of Professor Robertson, that, in fact, you only meant to draw attention to your situation and actually expected – even I hoped /I that he would discover the poison, proving himself the competent teacher you longed for. Is that not correct?'

Sirius stared at Dumbledore in disbelief.

So did Snape.

'Mr. Snape,' said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. 'This is the version I will be conveying to the Ministry of Magic and the general staff of the wizarding army, who are in charge of the Aurors' investigations. They have no reason to doubt me, due to circumstances that would take too long to explain now, but I need your confirmation for my version of the matter. In addition to your full support in reviving my deputy headmistress, of course.'

'Even Legilimences have to offer proof for their discoveries,' said Snape flatly, making Sirius give him a rare puzzled look.

'Legili-… what?'

Even Professor Dumbledore seemed slightly astounded.

Commendable,' he said, smiling, ignoring Sirius's thirst for knowledge. 'You are the first second-year I am to encounter who has come across this slightly obscure branch of magic. Still, I can assure you that my word will be enough to keep you out of trouble. Which is what you would like, I trust?'

Snape hesitated, just for a second, then nodded timidly, slightly awkward. Then, suddenly, as if feeling that he should be commenting on the matter, whispered, 'But I do not know how to reverse the effect of the potion.'

Sirius frowned. 'What the bloody… why not? You _brewed_ it!'

Dumbledore placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder, without looking at him. Sirius looked up, but the headmaster's gaze was fixed on Snape, who was staring at the floor again, determinedly, actually looking as though he was sulking now.

'I believe I can be of assistance there,' he said, looking completely unimpressed. 'Far more important for me at the moment is the question of your motivation. So I can determine your punishment.' He went for a meaningful look once more and Snape blinked, drawing his shoulders to his ears, looking a bit sheepish as he did.

'I won't do it again,' he stammered, not seeming to know what he was expected to say. 'I didn't do it on purpose. I… I'm sorry, sir. I really am.'

There was a short silence in which Dumbledore seemed to be considering this. Then, suddenly, he raised his head, an idea appearing to strike him, which he believed a satisfying solution to the matter.

'Very well, Mr. Snape,' he said, smiling just for a second. 'With your help I am sure we will be able to revive Professor McGonagall. All I ask of you is assistance in that and an apology. To her. Including anything she might ask of you. As a recompense, one might say. In turn, I will speak for you and take responsibility for everything that happened this year. It was partly my fault, after all.'

Sirius frowned. He was not sure he understood half of what was being said, but suspected it had something to do with Robertson and said events, which he, Sirius, did not have an insight in. Including Snape's "motivation". He could not believe Dumbledore was going to let the Slytherin off practically unpunished. He _had_ intended to kill a teacher, after all.

Snape nodded, his black eyes glittering strangely as he did, displaying no emotion, but confusion. Sirius shot him a look of pure venom, watching Snape glancing back at him rather timidly. He then found that he would not be able tokeep his objections for himself.

'Sir,' he began, a hundred voices rebelling inside him against this injustice, but Dumbledore cut him off.

'In the end, I believe it will be the best solution if we all seriously reflect on what happened this year – each for ourselves. Without the Ministry or the wizarding army interfering. We have been lucky in the outcome, after all. If nothing goes wrong now, Professor McGonagall will be with us again by the beginning of next week, and Professor Binns has agreed to continue teaching in spite of his renewed state. I trust that all of us have some interest in letting the matter rest. Is that not right, Mr. Black?'

Sirius hesitated. 'But McGonagall…'

'I _daresay_ you are far better off doing the greenhouse inventory than having a conversation about what is right or wrong with Professor McGonagall,' said Dumbledore quickly, a twinkle in his eye. 'Or do you wish to discuss the matter with Professor Binns in person?'

Sirius scowled and shook his head, sullenly. There was a short silence.

'Concerning the names of those involved in the affair of Professor Binns's death, however…'

Sirius flinched. He had feared the headmaster would mention the matter in front of Snape.

'I told you all I can!' he insisted, hoping that this would end the questioning. It had been painful enough as it was. But breaking a magical oath? Frankly impossible.

'I was hoping you could tell your cousin about it whilst I'll be conspicuous by my absence…'

'Not working,' said Sirius tiredly. 'I cannot tell anyone except… well… the people in question. And no, he is _not _one of them,' he added, seeing Snape's expression change to positive puzzlement with some satisfaction.

The headmaster stroked his beard quietly. 'I see,' he said quietly. 'That I have been mistaken about the pair of you once again.' He turned to Snape. 'And about you in particular.' He folded his hands, looking from one to the other rather thoughtfully.

'Well then,' he said after a small while, 'I shall have to think about the oath for some time. Everything else, however, I believe settled. Mr. Snape, if you would follow me to the hospital wing – Mr. Black, your friends, I believe, are looking for you quite desperately.'

And with this, he and Snape strode out of Sirius's eyesight.


	29. Ethics

**

Ethics

**

From the total darkness of dreamless sleep, Minerva McGonagall awoke and blinked at the blinding light above what was obviously one of the hospial wing's steel mattresses. No part of her body felt especially unusual, except that she could not move a single muscle. Then again, ever since Madame Pomfrey had taken on the position oas the Hogwarts nurse such was not too unusual for the waking patient. Minerva felt her thoughts spin and had the distinct impression of someone pulling her hair - until realising that this was indeed the case.

'You may let go now, Mr. Snape,' said a vaguely familiar voice from somewhere above her.

'I believe that if the bond gets andy thicker, it will have to be considered in your final exams.'

The pulling stopped.

A bond... a magical bond... what had happened?

With difficulty Minerva tried to revive the memory of what had happened before the flash. A room came into her mind, and people she knew.

'Try to concentrate on what is happening around you,' she heard the same, very familiar voice again, and then suddenly knew whom it belonged to. 'I shall explain to you what happened, but you need to be patient and you'll need to be fully awake for that.'

'Ach,' Minerva heard herself say. 'Ma body...' and then nothing for some time.

'It is back,' replied the headmaster calmly, putting one hand carefully onto her shoulder. 'All of it. We have been lucky.'

Minerva opened her eyes fully and took in the scene before her. Apart from a few hospital wing beds, potion shelves, and Albus Dumbledore, there was not much in the room that caught her attention, except for one, tiny detail...

'Mr. Snape!'

'P-Professor McGonagall,' said the boy, obviously in need of an intelligent reply. He had taken a few steps away from her bed now and was side-glancing at the huge windows on the other side of the room, not knowing what to do or to say. Minerva frowned. Gathered herself, wanting to make a proper impression, despite her state.

'What are you doing here, Mr. Snape?'

Snape blushed.

'Tell her,' said the headmaster quietly. 'You might as well get over with it.'

Snape nodded, still red. With some surprise Minerva noted his hands vanishing under his arms, close to his armpits and his gaze going back to the floor.

'I...' He fell silent again.

Minerva noticed the headmaster's gaze and felt her eyebrows pull into an involuntary frown. 'Albus...?'

'Mr. Snape will explain the matter to you in full detail,' said the headmaster quickly. 'I, unfortunately, do not seem to have much time left for conversation, as I am expected at the Ministry in about thirty minutes time.'

'Just a moment,' said Minerva, puzzled. 'You do not mean to say that you will not even stay until a ken the details?'

'As I say,' said the headmaster, now smiling, 'Mr. Snape has a marvellous gift for making things understandable. He will merely need someone to listen.'

And with this, he vanished.

Minerva stared at the spot from which he had disappeared, certain that she had simply blinked once too often and thus missed him using the glass door at the end of the corridor. You could not apparate or disapparate inside Hogwarts walls, after all.

Then, slowly, her gaze turned back towards Snape, who had remained at exactly the same spot as before, now biting his lip.

'Well?' said Minerva, finding his behaviour quite inappropriate for the given situation, realising how desperate of information she was becoming. 'What are you not telling me?'

Snape hesitated. Then spoke, very quietly, as shyly as she was used to from his occasional attempts to contribute to her lessons.

'I... it was me who... I mean...I didn't mean for _you_ to drink it... but... it was me who did the potion that... that did this to you.'

There was a short silence, in which Minerva desperately tried to suppress an instant reaction. Very quietly, after making sure that Snape had fallen silent again she nodded, gravely, pulling her self half upright in her bed.

'Mr. Snape,' she said quietly, 'do you mean to say you intended to poison the headmaster?'

'No!' The boy looked up, his face displaying a sensation of deep horror. 'I wouldn't... I _couldn't!_'

'Then whom did you intend to poison?' said Minerva, as quietly as before.

'R-Rod,' said Snape awkwardly. 'But I don't now,' he added quickly. 'Dumbledore's been talking to me 'bout it.

He sounded almost defiant. Minerva needed some time to realise whom he was talking about. 'Professor Robertson?' she said eventually with some surprise. 'Why?'

'P-personal matter,' said Snape quickly. Minerva was not pleased.

'Tell me,' she ordered. 'Everything.'

Snape did.

'The headmaster is right,' said the deputy headmistress eventually, after Snape had made possibly the longest speech of his life. 'Maybe I have not been listening closely enough to what you had to say.'

Snape blushed and said nothing.

'I'll ask two things of you as recompense,' continued Minerva. 'Because that is what Professor Dumbledore intended, wasn't it?'

Snape nodded, still red.

'I want you to promise that you will actually try and listen to what I am talking about in our lessons till the end of the year,' said Minerva firmly. 'And I would like to offer you remedial Transfiguration lessons to help you keep up with your work next term. Possibly longer. Depending on how much you wish to achieve.'

She smiled. As calmly as she could. If he agreed now, she had him.

'But...' said the boy, 'no! I do believe I... can do without extra lessons.'

Was he actually defiant? Minerva could hardly believe it.

'You do need someone to help you hand in your work on time,' she said sternly. 'But more importantly, you clearly need someone to assist you finding a direction in life. I want to help you, Mr. Snape. And,' she made what she hoped to be a meaningful break, 'I need an excuse not to have to report this to your parents. I believe it would be of interest to you if I did not send an owl to your father explaining what happened this term?'

Snape went pale and nodded. Even quicker than Minerva had expected. A worried frown appeared at her forehead and she had difficulty nodding.

'Meaning?'

Snape blushed again. 'I accept,' he said, appearing as timid as ever, his head still low. He seemed to be waiting.

'Well, that will be all,' said Minerva calmly. 'You should go back to lessons.'

Snape looked up again, surprised, as it seemed. 'That's all?'

Minerva nodded. 'Of course.'

Snape remained motionless for a while, then, very suddenly, he produced a smile Minerva had rarely seen on his face. 'And you are really not going to... write home?'

'No,' said Minerva quietly. The boy's expression was one of disturbing relief.

'Thank you,' he whispered, causing Minerva to frown again.

'Mr. Snape,' she said, careful not to affect the almost stereotypical Snape pride. 'Is there anything... you wish to tell me? About your father, maybe?'

Snape frowned at her, now puzzled. 'No, Professor,' he stammered. 'Should... should there be?'

Minerva hesitated, then shook her head. It buzzed.

'Go back to your class,' she said again, slightly confused. 'And remember your promise. 'I shall be up again by dinner if you have any questions left.

Snape nodded, obediently, and vanished. Minerva stared after him for some more time, wondering about many things she had never before noticed. It was, perhaps, time someone took charge of this boy's education.

* * *

The next day started with more than one surprise.

'Wands away, please,' said Professor McGonagall when the small group of Transfiguration second-years had settled down, expectantly wielding their wands before them, as usual, with no consideration of the consequences. Severus gave her a slightly relieved look. Better some theory than another embarrassing demonstration on how he had not opened his Transfiguration textbook in months.

'No, Miss Black, you will not need your textbook,' said the Transfiguration Professor now. 'But I would like you to take notes. Mr. Nott, I know you cannot wait for another chance to use your wand, but do put it away now.' She made a pause, letting her gaze wander over the class of Gryffindors and Slytherins, all slightly startled that she would not even try to cram the past term's contents into a single lesson to give them some last-minute preparation for the exam. And the exam they would have to do, unfortunately, she had informed them only minutes ago.

'Mr. Potter,' said the Professor calmly, re-arranging her robes while speaking. 'Please name the most annoying situation you can think of.' She looked up. Pointedly.

Severus turned his head to glance at the group of Gryffindor boys, who were all assembled in the first row. He was as surprised as the rest of the class, but would not have dreamed of allowing his face to display it like theirs did.

'The what?' said Potter after a short while, and quickly: 'Annoying situations? Uhm... there's many of them, I guess. Losing at Quidditch is pretty bad.'

'The _most_ annoying one, please,' said McGonagall, ignoring all sounds from the lines of the Slytherins.

'Unbelievable, isn't it?' whispered Timothy Nott into Severus's ear who nodded.

'Just typical of a Gryffindor.'

Others, apparently, had other things to discuss.

'...something in her speech,' Severus heard. And: '...even more posh than usual... Bloody Kelvinside...'

Tim raised his hand.

'I find it rather annoying having to have lessons with students from less intelligent houses,' he said, grinning. 'Does that count?'

Several people giggled. McGonagall remained unimpressed.

'The _most_ annoying one, Mr. Nott,' she said sternly. 'How hard can it be?'

'The most annoying situation of all is when you're trying to achieve something and it just won't work, however hard you try,' came a voice from the ranks of the Gryffindors. A few heads turned.

'Well done, Mr. Lupin,' said McGonagall, as annoyingly calm as before. 'That sounds more like it. Anyone else?'

Severus hesitated, then raised his hand. Slowly. McGonagall acknowledged it at an instant. 'Yes. Mr. Snape?'

'Teachers being unfair,' said Severus quietly. 'Grown-ups in general. If you cannot rely on a teacher... nothing's certain.'

There was a short silence.

'Yes,' said McGonagall eventually. 'That is very true. Especially if the grown-up is someone you ought to or would like to trust.' She smiled vaguely. 'And how, Mr. Snape, would you deal with such a situation?'

Severus frowned, gave her a nervous look, then shrugged.

'Getting away,' he mumbled, not wanting to say which thought had first crossed his mind. 'Ignore them.'

'Possibly,' said Professor McGonagall matter-of-factly. 'Though you might find that hard at times. Any other suggestions? Anyone?'

'Blast them,' said Black, 'stupid Slytherin gits.' A few Gryffindors laughed.

'Unimpressive,' replied McGonagall coldly, not even turning to him, but keeping her eyes fixed on Severus's every movement, who did his best not to shift in his seat. 'Mr. Black, you can be a blasted fool, if you excuse my openness.'

Black stared. 'I wasn't being serious!' he scowled. 'And here's me thinking -'

'A desirable circumstance,' McGonagall cut him off. 'You rarely ever think before replying, however, Mr. Black, and I doubt you'll resort to thinking if facing a situation that actually annoys you.'

'That's not _true_!' Black stormed, almost rising from his seat, but quickly gathering himself again as he realised that he was making her point. 'Sorry,' he added quickly, causing Professor McGonagall to give him a brief smile.

'What would you do, Mr. Black,' she said slowly, pointedly, 'if I told you to get up and kill Mr. Snape right now?'

Black shut his mouth. And so did everyone else. There was a shocked silence in which Severus suddenly realised that this conversation - this _lesson_ was about him. And him alone. No one moved for some time before Black suddenly stirred and got up - at a snail's pace.

'What... are you playing at?' he said slowly, pointedly. 'What are you implying?' His voice was no more than a hiss, but clearly perceptible throughout the classroom. Everyone else was staring at him and Professor McGonagall, who had not risen from her place in front of the blackboard, piercing the young pureblood with a look that told everything and nothing.

'I am asking you a simple question,' she said, still sounding unaffected. 'It is hypothetical, of course. What do you imagine you would do?'

'Decline, of course,' said Black slowly, still standing, both hands flatly on the desk in front of him while throwing her a highly calculating look. 'One doesn't kill people just like that.'

'A textbook answer,' said McGonagall, flashing him a short smile. 'And now some consideration, please. You are in a deserted corridor. Just the two of you. No one will see you, no one will have any proof. You know that there are spells, which do not leave a trace of who cast them. Assume you know one of these spells.'

'I'd _still_ not do it!' Black burst out, suddenly looking slightly green around the nose. 'Seriously, how thick would I have to be?'

'No one will know, Mr. Black,' said McGonagall intently. 'You are all alone. It is quite easy...'

'DO YOU _WANT_ ME TO SAY YES?' Black burst out, making several people around him jump with surprise. 'DO YOU EXPECT ME TO? BECAUSE TELL YOU WHAT - I WON'T!' Severus watched the Gryffindor's face twitch in an effort to contain his anger. Thoughts were racing in his mind and he suddenly realised that his lip was bleeding. For some reason he had the feeling that his reply, in this situation, would have been a different one. A cold shiver went down his spine. And another one, as McGonagall raised her hand slightly. Her expression had assumed instant seriousness and her eyebrows were pulled together into one, black line.

'No, Mr. Black,' she said quietly. 'I do not want you to agree. I was going to open your eyes,' she looked around, 'all yours, in fact, as to what kinds of decisions might await you once you are capable of doing real Transfiguration - and, indeed, anything you might learn at Hogwarts. I would like you to see what kind of situation we are not unlikely to encounter, being what we are. Learning magic should not entail spells and incantations only. You need to consider what you _do_ with your powers and where to set your priorities.'

'_With great power comes great responsibility,_' mumbled one of the Slytherins in the back row and some people sniggered. Severus, however, was too busy watching McGonagall, his mind still racing. What on earth was she talking about? Who had ever heard of magic having anything to do with priorities? He side-glanced at Tim, how had started doodling with his quill. Then his gaze went back to Professor McGonagall. She was looking at him, her eyebrows raised.

'Mr. Snape,' she said matter-of-factly. 'You do remember most simple kitchen spells from your first year I trust?'

Severus felt his face flush as a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly directed at him. 'Yeah,' he said nervously. 'Of... of course.'

Professor McGonagall nodded. She raised and took a few steps towards Black and the other Gryffindors.

'Get up, Mr. Snape,' she said calmly. 'Take out your wand and set Mr. Black on fire.'

Before anyone had the time to do anything but gape, once again, at their apparently deluded Transfiguration teacher, Black had whipped out his wand and was pointing it straight at Severus, whose eyes darted from him back to Professor McGonagall.

'Wand out!' said the latter sharply, easily disarming Black with one hand while holding her wand in the other. '_Now!_

Before he could think about the matter, Severus felt his hand fling into the pockets of his robes, obtaining the handle of his slender, black wand. Not without satisfaction, he pointed it straight between Black's eyes, took a deep breath, and - fired.


	30. Colleague Conversation

**

Colleague Conversation

**

'Three moles. She can' deny yeh that. And they'd really be useful down here.'

Three moles, Mandy Sprout. No less. And it _had_ to be her walking all the way up to the castle, of course, climbing the various staircase to Minerva McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom just because Rubeus Hagrid tended to avoid the inside of the giant building.

'You are behaving as ridiculously as ickle Argus,' she had informed him. 'None of the students know what happened back then. They won't despise you for a crime you haven't, in fact, committed.'

'Yeh never know,' he had said. As he tended to. And she had started walking.

There was a small hiss and the smell of molten flesh coming from the inside of the Transfiguration classroom when she arrived. A number of people screamed and when entering, all Mandy could see was a cloud of thick smoke and some loose blurs of magic. The remains of a shield, maybe, put up in haste, but yet effective.

'Mr. Snape,' she then heard her colleague's calm and very rational voice, 'please explain what you just did and why.'

But there was no instant answer. Instead, Mandy could see one of the boys (Sirius Black, she recognised) turn and pass her in a hurry. His face was pale, the air around him thick as though under the influence of a spell. She made no attempt to stop him.

'An answer please, Mr. Snape,' said the Transfiguration professor again, rather sharply this time. 'And _stop_ crying! For Merlin's sake! _You_ were the one casting that spell!'

'I d-d-don't know,' came a hesitant boy's voice after a small voice, from the ranks of the Slytherins. Mandy recognised it. She recognised this class, as it tended to be nothing but trouble.

'Then _think!_' hissed his teacher, sounding quite uncharacteristically indignant. 'And tell me why you cast that spell to set Mr. Black on fire!'

'B-b-b-because you s-said so,' stammered Snape. Mandy felt her jaw drop.

'And should that be a reason for you to do it?' snarled Professor McGonagall. 'What on _earth_ were you thinking? Did you think at all?'

Snape shook his head. Unhappily. 'You said...'

'You told him to kill?'

All eyes within the room were suddenly directed at Mandy, who realised that she had been the one to utter the last statement. Minerva McGonagall took her eyes away from Snape and his misery.

'Professor Sprout,' she said, sounding reserved. 'What can I do for you?'

Mandy hesitated. 'I need to talk to you,' she said. 'Urgently. Official Hogwarts business.'

She was lying and Minerva knew it.

'I cannot end the lesson here,' she said decidedly, but if you would be so kind as to wait I shall join you the staff room in about ten minutes time.'

Mandy hesitated once more. Nodded, very reluctantly, and left the classroom. It took a lot of determination not to ask straight away, but she was well aware that Minerva was not too fond of curriculum discussions right in front of her clientele.

It did indeed take Minerva McGonagall a full ten minutes before she appeared at the staff room doorstep, looked around exhaustedly, and eventually lowered herself on one of the armchairs near the fireplace. She seemed pensive and reluctant to return Mandy's curious gaze. The latter chose to ignore her colleague's desperation for privacy.

'Minerva,' she said vigorously, putting the fingertips of both hands on her sleeves. 'What was that lesson about?'

'Responsibility,' said Minerva flatly. 'Dealing with aggressions beforehand. That's why young Black left. The killing matter was the final straw, but I had to see for myself if the authority problem of the Snape line continues to live in young Severus - and thus decided to go for a little... experiment.'

'What experiment?' said Mandy weakly.

'Do you happen to remember Lance's habit of not reflecting whatever decision he used to make in the old days?' replied the deputy headmistress. Mandy nodded.

'An irascible fellow he was. I haven't had much to do with older students at the time, but he was hard to miss. Bloody idiot.' She smiled.

Minerva hesitated, then returned a very thin, thoughtful colleague's smile. 'I know that you do not approve of him,' she said slowly. 'I have not seen him in a while, though. He seems to have changed. The marriage has changed him.'

'Yes, he is very lucky to have Virbia around him,' Mandy quickly agreed. 'And who would have thought that someone like him would want to have children?'

For the first time today, Minerva produced a mischievous grin.

'I seem to know that is was an accident,' she stated, thinking, then summoned herself a cup of tea. 'But anyway, Lance used to have an insufferable way of not questioning authority, whenever he was confronted with an important decision. At times I felt that... he was not _able_ to disobey. And that is... what the experiment you witnessed was for. I wanted to see how far Snape would go.'

'And there were no other ways?'

'There might have been,' said Minerva coldly. 'But the context of the lesson demanded such drastic methods. I also meant to demonstrate to some of the others - Potter, for example, and Black - just how much damage magic used without consideration can cause. And I do believe I made a lasting impression.'

'I should try and talk to Sirius Black again if I was you,' said Mandy slowly. 'He seemed upset.

'Naturally,' agreed the deputy headmistress. 'I shall have to talk to him, if only to give him the same explanation I have just given his classmates. The most important part of the lesson, quite naturally.'

'I thought it was a bit of a risky thing to do,' said Mandy pensively.

Minerva nodded.

'And maybe a bit early?' Mandy pressed on. 'More suitable for the OWL year, perhaps?'

Minerva nodded again. 'I had my reasons, however, to confront this specific class with this problem today. Very likely, I can assure you, it will not make it into the regular second year curriculum.'

'Talking about the curriculum,' said Mandy pensively, 'have you heard about the foreign language matter?'

'Yes,' said Minerva simply. 'It's a disgrace. But I shall support Conn and Sarah in their efforts to keep French and German at least. I spent my last holidays in Germany. Very relaxing.'

'What about Troll and Centauri?' enquired Mandy, curious how her colleague had reacted to the imminent closure of the MCC department.

'A disgrace,' said the deputy headmistress again. 'Never mind Troll, though. It is Goblin that they should continue to teach. Otherwise no wizard will, in due time, be able to communicate with the Gringotts officials any longer.'

'True,' mumbled Mandy, remembering her sister's efforts of opening an account with one of the many goblins who had not been raised within the wizarding community and who had thus placed her money in a knitted sock over his very own fireplace, together with a pair of deep-frozen ashwinder eggs, believing she had specifically told him to do so.

'Did you have a reason for interrupting a lesson, by the way?' said Minerva now, drinking the rest of her tea in small, elegant sips.

'Ah yes,' Mandy remembered. 'Good of you to remind me. I would like some of the moles you used for your fifth years last week (the remaining ones, that is) to help me and Hagrid dig up the pumpkin fields. They are so much quicker than we are, and I believe you were worrying what to do with them anyway, were you not? Hagrid could take them to the Forbidden Forest afterwards, or...'

'Absolutely not,' said Minerva sternly. 'I will not leave those poor creatures as an evening snack for whatever is roaming the Forbidden Forest these days. But you can have them if you put them back in their boxes afterwards. I expect I shall have to pop into Diagon Alley some time during the next few days anyway. Filling our stocks, if you know what I mean.'

'Anti-cheating quills?' replied Mandy, grinning. Minerva nodded. 'Just a test. I'll not have another Emmeline Vance case at this school. Well then, lesson time, I daresay. Will you join me for a cup of tea after dinner? I shall have to tell you what kinds of examination papers I decided upon this year. You will find that they are... rather unusual.'


	31. Homecoming

**

Homecoming

**

King's Cross station seemed empty when you were looking for someone who was not there. There were many people fetching their children from the Hogwarts Express, guiding them safely through the barrier back into the Muggle World, but Severus ignored them.

Even Timothy's last attempt of getting his attention, presumably for a short goodbye, passed by the black-haired second-year unnoticed. As though in a dream he searched the station for someone to fetch him. Anyone. Father had sent an owl, only a few days ago, that urgent commitments would be keeping him away from home a bit longer than expected, but surely his mother would be waiting for him around the next corner? Behind the barrier, perhaps?

It took Severus a little while to realise that he was, yet again, all alone on the station, and even when throwing a help-seeking look in the direction of his other relatives he had to realise, with a sting of pain inside his chest, that they were all gone already.

With a pensive look at his large trunk Severus decided that, alone or not, he had to get home somehow. Around him, most of the racketing families had vanished through the barrier by now, and Severus realised that he would have to do the run at the solid-looking brick wall all by himself.

'Just like in the old days,' said Skein.

Severus nodded. 'Just like it used to be.'

'Pity no one's here to help you with that trunk,' Skein went on.

'You suppose father will come for me if I just stay and wait?'

'He is in Africa,' said Skein coldly. 'Of course he will not come.'

'I passed the exam,' said Severus reminiscently. 'I got a 'B'.'

'A 'B' in Transfiguration,' sighed Skein. 'You bet he'll be pleased.'

'Not if I linger here all day and have mother worried where I am,' replied Severus, suddenly directing his attention at the barrier and his trunk again.

'I hate telling you,' remarked Skein on, 'but you won't be able to run with all your luggage.'

Severus nodded again. 'I have to try, though.'

'Yes,' said Skein quietly. 'You'll have to try. Always have to try. Never stop making an effort.'

And Severus did. He shouldered his trunk, swayed slightly, took a few staggering steps towards the barrier, and then put his trunk down again, sweat glittering on his pale face. Glancing around unhappily he realised that the station was completely deserted now, except for Skein, who was leaning against the barrier, watching him calmly.

'You might as well help me,' he mumbled, knowing that Skein wouldn't. Then, very suddenly, an idea sprang to his mind. The station was part of the London wizarding world. A geographically unfixed world that had emerged in-between today's all-Muggle London as a result of the Ministry's decision to go into hiding a few centuries ago. All parts of this world, 'Londinium', as it was sometimes called, or simply "the meta world", were linked in a complex system of connecting channels and with a number of Portkey stations. Severus doubted, of course, that there was a Portkey station at King's Cross, but now he thought about the matter it became obvious that the doors on the other end of the station had to lead somewhere, if only into each other, as door sometimes did in magically disconnected places.

After another moment's hesitation, Severus started walking towards the apparently deserted arches of the station until he reached one of the grilled iron doors at the end of a long row of pillars.

'Looks hopeless to me,' said Skein. 'It's locked, isn't it?'

Severus did not reply, but tried the other doors, all locked as he found out to his great dismay.

'What am I supposed to do?' he whispered. 'Skein, what am I supposed to do?'

'Try the window,' suggested Skein, pointing at one of the top windows high up above the grilled doors, closed to the huge station clock. 'You could fly up there and...'

'No!' said Severus quickly. 'No, there... must be a better way.'

Skein shrugged. You might try and ask for help. Or use your wand...'

'No magic outside school,' said Severus promptly, getting angry at Skein's useless suggestions. 'You know that, Skein.'

'But you'll have to get out somehow,' said Skein coldly. 'You're allowed to use your wand when there is an emergency.'

There was a short break.

'What do you suggest?' said Severus eventually, his gaze fixed at the iron bars in front of the door that promised freedom.

'Alohomora,' said Skein matter-of-factly.

Severus hesitated.

'I can't just open that door. It's probably locked for a reason. What if people don't realise this was an emergency?'

'The other option is to leave your luggage and make your run through the barrier without that trunk,' stated Skein. For a while, Severus seriously considered this. Eventually, however, he shook his head again. Another moment's hesitation made him aware of the looming silence around him and slowly, at a snail's pace, he turned.

The station was dissolving as he was talking to his best friend. Slowly, but inevitably, the giant arches, platforms, and rails were dissolving into nothingness, leaving only a vague, unpleasant-looking mist where once King's Cross station and the Hogwarts Express had been.

'Skein,' whispered Severus, 'where's the station going?'

But Skein was gone, all of a sudden, leaving Severus alone with his fear - and his doubts. He did not take long to decide now.

_'Alohomora,_' he heard himself say, watching his wand opening the old, rusty lock on the right side of the grid nearest to him. The lock sprang open.

With a great deal of panic now, Severus shoved himself and the trunk through the gap between the grid and the stone wall and pointed his wand at the iron door, looking back every now and then, to see if the mist was coming any closer.

_'Alohomora!'_

The door opened slowly, with a creak. Again, Severus pushed himself through as quickly as possible, pulling his large trunk behind him, and turned. What he saw made him gasp and blink a couple of times before turning again, in panic, realising that the door through which he had just come, had turned into a tree.

There were trees all around him. All of a sudden, it seemed to have got dark everywhere, and a chilly breeze was tousling Severus's black strands of hair. He pulled the collar of his uniform up, just a bit, and started re-doing his ponytail while gazing around cautiously. Where was he? What on earth had happened to that door?

Very suddenly, he felt a heavy grip on his shoulder. With a start, he turned, and looked into the eyes of a man who seemed vaguely familiar. One of the soldiers, he recalled, working near the Scottish border, who had often visited his father in the old days. Not so often now, he also remembered. The man was quite big, square-jawed, and wore his thick, blonde hair in a short ponytail. Instead of everyday robes he was wearing the blue uniform of the medical squads up in the North. Severus recognised them instantly, as he had asked his father once, why some soldiers were wearing blue, whilst the common colour for all uniforms within the wizarding army was still the old imperial red.

'What are you doing here?' said the soldier now, scrutinising Severus cap-a-pie. 'I don't think children are allowed in the Forbidden Forest.'

Severus stared. The Forbidden Forest? How in the name of Merlin had he come to be in the Forbidden Forest, which he clearly remembered to be up in the North around Hogwarts and, partly, the village of Hogsmeade.

'Hey,' the soldier went on, recognising Severus's face only now, as it seemed. 'You're the Colonel's boy. Snape? Severus Snape?'

Severus nodded. Mutely.

'That's all right then,' said the soldier, a smile suddenly spreading at his square face. 'I am Sergeant Sturgis Podmore. You might not remember me...'

'Yes,' said Severus hesitantly. 'I do.'

'All the better,' said Sergeant Podmore, still smiling. 'You been playing around with that clock, have you? Wonder how you got past that security spell.'

'No,' said Severus simply, but then, considering that it might not be wise to let everyone know about what had happened at the station, 'I mean yes. I don't know... there was no spell. I just... fell through.'

He blinked, hoping that his lie was in any way coherent. Podmore nodded and shrugged.

'Let me help you get back then,' he said firmly, drawing a wand from his pocket that looked a bit like his hair - light and unduly short.

'_Porta Orologio_!' he said in a quiet and very firm voice, drawing a vertical line into the air. 'There you go,' he pointed as, without a sound, a small gap opened into the very familiar hallway of Severus's home. Severus stared, hesitated then smiled thankfully. He was going home at last. Looking up, he saw the square face pulling into another broad grin.

'Nice to meet you again, Severus. Take care from now. And - stay away from that clock, you hear me?'

Severus nodded. Podmore shook his hand and helped him push his trunk through the gap. Then, all of a sudden, Severus was alone again, standing in front of the old grandfather's clock in the hallway, rather in doubt what to do or where to go now.

A deafening silence awaited Severus when he took a few steps into the hallway and, after a short silence, switched on the small oil lamp hanging from aside the window still.

'Mother?' he said carefully, as if scared of breaking the unusual mood that was in and around the house - in every piece of furniture - in every feeble draught of air around him.

No one replied.

Severus glanced around the corner into the kitchen and finally opened the living-room door.

'F-father?'

But again, no one answered. Instead, he noticed that the room was less orderly than usual and a lot of old bottles were lying around, giving the impression that someone had either forgotten or left them there for some strange, nonsensical purpose. Though Severus could not imagine either. Otherwise the room was empty, just as he had guessed. He felt his hands getting sweaty and wiped them on the insides of his school robes. The situation started getting unbearable. Where could his mother have gone?

He left the living room again, carefully closing the door behind him, stepping out into the dark hallway once more, looking around. His stomach cramped. Something was not right. Not at all. His mother would not have gone out on the day of his return. It was just not her to do so. And she had known he would return. He had written her every week for the past five months, enquiring how she was and what the doctors had said.

Then he remembered his father's letter. Remembered how he had told him, in unusually shaped, black letters, of mother's disinclination to even get up sometimes, not to mention leave the house or come to visit him, Severus, on parents' day at Hogwarts. The longest letter his father had ever written to him. One of very few letters Severus had received in six terms at Hogwarts.

Why did that letter come to his mind right now?

He turned, as though in a dream, and made a few steps towards his parents' bedroom. There was no sound coming from inside and when Severus opened the door just an inch he noticed that it was dark inside.

He could not go in. He knew as much. The room was forbidden. At any time of the day - or night. Strictly forbidden, ever since father had returned to stay for good. Ever since Severus had stumbled into a scene, which he had preferred to forget afterwards. That had also been the last time he had been seeking shelter of nightmares on his mother's side. But something told Severus that he should go in now - had to, if he wanted to find out what was wrong - and there _was_ something wrong. He felt it in every fingertip - in every limp of his body that something was not as it was supposed to be.

A creak and a few steps. Severus was standing in the middle of a dimly lit bedroom and staring at a small something under a pile of blankets. A something, which radiated neither the warmth nor the usual fractions of thoughts and memories of a normal person.

Severus pulled away the blanket and stared at his mother with an unmoving expression, although his insides had started pulling together as soon as he had set foot in this room. What was this supposed to mean? There was something decisively wrong about this situation, but it took a few moments for him to realise what this lifeless body in the shape of his mother actually meant. The fact that she was not breathing, cold and stiff, a dried bloodstain, small and hardly visible, between her barely opened lips.

It was the end.

She would not wake again. Would not talk, not laugh, not embrace him - ever again. Never ever.

The lump in Severus's throat dissolved into something wet and salty emerging from his eyes and onto his school robes. Again, it took him some time to realise what it was.

Hastily, he started wiping his face with one sleeve while continuing to stare down at his mother. She was lying beautifully on her pillow, almost seeming to smile at him, though her eyes were closed.

The lump continued to grow. Seemed to choke him. Reduce him to something he did not want to be - a nasty little whiner. A wimp. He grabbed his throat and pressed. Firmly. Not breathing. Not thinking. That helped. It always did. The tears went back down again. And yet - something in Severus made it impossible for him to move - deprived him of the ability to think. Or act. The lump was growing heavier every minute. He sank down helplessly, next to his mother's body, not sure whether he had the strength of ever getting up again, not sure whether he wanted to.

He sat there for what seemed an endless amount of time. There, on his mother's bed, holding her dead body's icy hand. How long had she been lying here? A day? A week?

With effort he remembered that this was impossible. That father must have been here only four days ago, checking on his wife's health, as he always did, always, always, as was habit with him. Never telling his son that mother had been about to die. Severus gulped. Thinking of his father was painful. Stirred a hatred that he knew would make matters only worse. With a last, tiny bit of clarity in his mind he rose from his seat, leaving his mother's hand next to her lifeless body, gulped, closed his eyes, gulped again... and turned around with a start.

Behind him, his red officer's uniform clearly visible against the light coming in from the half opened door, stood his father. His eyes flashing, his wand drawn and pointing at Severus, but lowering it at an instant as he saw whom he was facing. The next moment Severus felt himself being snatched and lifted a few feet into the air until he was level with his father's watery blue, flashing eyes.

'YOU!' he hissed, obviously taking great care of keeping his voice down, 'I've been expecting a burglar! Time-traveller! Criminal! What are _you_ doing inside this -'

Only then he seemed to notice his son's wet face and the expression of horror on it. Severus expected him to frown, perhaps scold him for letting his emotions take control, but his father did nothing of the sort. He pushed Severus away and his eyes darted almost automatically towards his wife who was still lying motionlessly in the darkness of the cold room.

'What's wrong with her?'

Severus did not reply. A new kind of sensation was arising in him. A mad form of delight, unbelievable though it seemed in this situation. He watched his father bend down, touch mother's cold skin, his face blanching, his large hands cupping her cheeks with visible horror and disbelief about him.

'She's dead!' he said with some effort, well aware that his voice sounded challenging. Well aware that, knowing his father and his current state of mind, this was probably the worst thing he could have done.

But the soldier did not react to his son's remark. His eyes were fixed on his wife's lifeless body, stroking her face slowly, forming soundless words with trembling lips. His look was unfathomable, but the way his hands shook displayed clearly what was going on inside him. Severus watched him motionlessly and in silence.

Suddenly, the big soldier's legs seemed to give in and he sank down in front of his wife, as Severus had done, burying his head in her blankets, clasping her hand as if holding on to her.

'Noooo...'

Severus stared at this scene of complete misery, watching his father's shoulders twitch as he was sitting on the floor helplessly, holding the dead body's left hand, still burying his face in the dead woman's pink nightshirt.

He was crying.

It took Severus a while to realise this, and he knew that, if he made one false movement now, he would not leave this room in one piece. Nervously he stared down at his father, trying to read his thoughts. Trying to estimate what he would be doing next. But nothing happened for what seemed an eternity. Instead, after must have been an hour of complete silence, Severus's father raised gravely from his seat, staring miserably at the potions bottles and various items on the little table next to his wife's bed, took out his wand, and muttered a spell.

At once, the table with all that was on top of it, was caught in something looking remotely like a giant soap bubble, and vanished shortly afterwards with a small pop. So did the soap bubble.

His father was still staring at his wife, but now, Severus noted, with a new quality in his eyes. He checked her hands, cheeks, tried to open her mouth, and then, grimly, left the room, not without snatching his son's collar, dragging him along.

Severus did not dare protest. He was moving as though in a dream. Wordlessly, his father grabbed his trunk, still carrying his son under one arm, stomped up the stairs and, with a thud, placed both, the trunk and his son, into Severus's room. He then turned, as wordlessly, and, with a small hiss from his wand, locked the door from outside.

Severus stared after him, void of emotions, all concentration going into not thinking about the lifeless shape in the room underneath his own. Slowly, very steadily, he felt an emptiness spread inside him that he had not perceived before. It was numbing his senses, making him help- and defenceless, but he did not need help, as there was nothing he perceived that could have frightened him. No emotions, no clear thought. There was only emptiness.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Another year's end. I can see why Chamber of Secrets seemed so boring to me now. JKR's put about as much foreshadowing in it as I have put in here, and that is always difficult, as one knows so much more than the reader. That makes it complicated to convey certain matters believably and not get confusing at the same time, so I apologise for any reading inconvenience you might have had. This part was harder than I imagined.  
I once again thank you all for your patience and very helpful reviews. I know I did not answer all your questions, but some things will get more understandable as we move into third year. (Incidentaly, I perfectly agree, Silverthreads. Minerva went too far. But I suppose she can be excused, considering the ordeal she has just gone through what with almost getting killed by a student. Teachers tend to try and get all educational about such situations, I can tell you.) Also, I'll have to think about what to do if HBP smashes any of my crucial plots. Ah well. The everyday worries of writing fanfiction. Thanks for staying with me. :) 


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